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I One 

i Summer's Day 

W BY 

w H. V. ESMOND 

^ Al'TlIOR OF "WHKX WE WERE T\VEXTY-0\E.' 

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VOL. I. 
1 Ion 

» r»iio 

I Th« L»dy of Lyon» 
4 Rieh*li*u 
( Tke Wift 

• Tk« Ho»»yraoon 

T Tht School for Scandal 

• M»B*v 

"VOL. II. 

• Tk« Stranger 

!• Grandfathtr Whitehead 

U Richard III 

I» L«T«'. Sacrifice 

II Tk« Gamtitar 

14 A Cur* for tha Heartache 

II Tha Hunchback 

14 Don CKiar da Baian 

TOL. III. 

17 Tba P*or Gaotlaman 
II Hamlat 

It Cbarlai II 

N Vanlct PraierTcd 

•1 Pliarro 

fll Tha Lova Chaie 

M Otballo 

M Land ma Fir* Shillings 

VOL. IV. 
K VIrKinlui 

K Kbif of iht Commons 
91 Lendoa Attarance 
It Tka Raat Day 
It Two Gaatlenian ofVerona 
MTka Jaaloui Wife 
II Tha Rirali 

13 Parfacilon 

VOL. V. [Debts 

18 A Naw War to Par Old 
M Look Bafara You Leap 

Si KiiK Joku 

It NarTOUi Man 

8T Damon and Pythias 

II Claodaitiaa ^larriage 

If William Tell 

40 Day after the Wedding 

VOL. VI. 

41 Speed tha Plough 
49 Romao and Juliet 
41 Feudal Times 

44 Charlai tha Twelfth 
41 Tha Brids 
41 Tka Follies of a Kight 
4T Iron Chest [Fair Ladv 
41 Faint Heart Never Won 

VOL. VIL 
41 Road to Ruin 
10 Macbeth 
tl Tamper 

19 Eradne 

15 Bertram 

•4 The Dusnaa 

•I Much Ado About Nothing 

••TbeCritia 

VOL. VIIL 
17 Tha Apoitate 
W Twelfth Night 
•I Brutus 
10 Simpton &. Co 
•I Merchant of Venice 
It Old Heads A Young Hearts 
•I Mountaineers [riage 

14 Three Weeks after Mar- 

VOL. IX. 

15 Love 

•I As You Like It 
IT The Elder Brother 
•8 Werner 
It Gislppus 

70 Town and Country 

71 KiBg Lear 
79 Blue DcTiU 

VOL. X. 
71 Henry VIII 
74 Married and Single 
7B HenrT IV 
7«Paul'iPry 
77 Gav Mannering 
71 Sweethearts and Wives 
71 Serieut Family 
10 She Stoops to 'Conquer 



VOL. XI. 

81 Julius Csesar 

82 Vicar of Wakefield 
8.1 Leap Year 

84 The Cattpaw 

86 The Passing Cloud 

86 Drunkard 

87 Rob Roy 

88 George Barnwell 

VOL. XIL 

89 Ingomar 

90 Sketches in India 

91 Two Friends 
9 t Jane Shore 

93 Corsican Brothers , 

94 Mind your own Business 

95 Writing on the Wall 
9S Heir at Law 

VOL. XIIL 

97 Soldier's Daughter 

98 Douglas 

99 Marco Spada 

109 Nature's Nobleman 

101 Sardanapalus 

102 Civilisation 
10.3 Tlje Robbers 

104 Katharine and Petruchio 
VOL. XIV. 

105 Game of Love 

106 Midsummer Night's 

107 Ernestine [Dream 

108 Rag Picker of Paris 

109 Flying Dutchman 

110 Hypocrite 

111 Tiierese - 

112 La Tour de Nesle 

VOL. XV. 

113 Ireland As It Is 

114 .Sea of Ice 
116 Seven Clerks 

116 Game of Life 

117 Forty Thieves 

118 Bryan Boroihme 

1 19 Romance and Reality 

120 Ugoiino 

VOL. XVL 

121 The Tempest 
132 The Pilot 

123 Carpenter of Rouen 
I'M King's Rival 
12.S Little Treasure 

126 Dombey and Son 

127 Parents and Guardians 

128 Jewess 

VOL. XVII. 

129 CamiUe 

130 Married Life 

131 Wenloek of Wenlock 

132 Rose of Ettrickvale 

133 David Copperfield 



VOL. XXL 
141 All's Fair in Lore 
168 Hofer 

163 Self 

164 Cinderella 
166 Phantom 

166 Franklin [Moscow 

167 The Gunmaker of 

168 The Love of a Princa 

VOL. XXII. 

169 Son of the Night 

170 Rorv O'Mor* 

171 Golden Eagle 

172 Rienri 

173 Broken Sword 



74 Rip Va 



AVinkla 



nSIsabelle 

176 Heart of Mid Lothian 

VOL. XXIII. 

177 Actress of Padua 

178 Floating Beacon 

179 Bride of Lair.mermoor 

180 Cataract of the Ganges 

181 Robber of the Rhine 

182 School of Reform 

183 Wandering Boys 
1S4 Mazeppa 

VOL. XXIV. 

185 Y'oung New York 

186 The Victims 

187 Romance after Marriage 

188 Brigand 

189 Poor of New York 

190 Ambrose Gwinett 

191 Raymond and Agnes 

192 Gambler's Fate 

VOL. XXV. 

193 Father and Son 

194 Massaniello 

196 Sixteen String Jack 

196 Youthful Queen 

197 Skeleton Witness 

198 Innkeeper of Abbeville 

199 Miller and his Men 

200 Aladdin 

VOL. XXVI. . 
901 Adrienne the Actress 
202 Undine 
S03 Jesse Brown 

204 Asmodeus 

205 Mormons 

206 Blanche of Brandywine 

207 Viola 

208 Deseret Deserted 

VOL. XXVII. 

209 Americans in Paris 

210 Victorine 

211 Wixard of the Ware 
217 Castle Spectre 

213 Horse-shoe Robinson 



134 Aline, or the Rose of|214 Armand, Mrs. Mowatt 

135 Pauline [Killarney 215 Fashion, Mrs. Mowatt 

136 Jane Eyre 



VOL. XVIII. 

137 Night and Morning 

138 ^thiop 

139 Three Guardsmen 

140 Tom Cringle 

141 Henriette, the Forsaken 

142 Eustache Baudin 

143 Ernest Maltravers 

144 Bold Dragoons 

VOL. XIX. 

145 Dred, or the Dismal 

[Swamp 

146 Last Days of Pompeii 

147 Esmeralda 

148 Peter WiUins 

149 Ben the Boatswain 

150 Jonathan Bradford 

151 Retribution 

152 Minerali 

VOL. XX. 

1 53 French Spy 

154 Wept of Wish-ton Wish 

155 Evil Genius 

156 Ben Bolt 

157 Sailor of France 

158 Red Mask 

159 Life of an Actress 

160 Wedding Day 



216 Glance at New Y'ork 

VOL. XXVIIl. 

217 Inconstant 

218 Uncle Tom's Cabin 
919 Guide to the Stage 

220 Veteran 

221 Miller of New Jersey 

222 Dark Hour before Dawn 

223 Midsum'rNight'sDream 

[Laura Keene's Edition 

224 Art and Artifice 

VOL. XXIX. 

225 Poor Y'oung Man 

226 Ossawattomie Brown 

227 Pope of Rome 

228 Oliver Twist 

229 Pauvrette 

230 Man in the Iron Mask 

231 Knight of Arra 

232 Moll Pitcher 

VOL. XXX. 

233 Black Eyed Susan 
•r.'.4 Satan in Paris 

235 Rosina Meadows 

236 West End, or Irish Heir 

237 Six Degrees of Crime 
2.38 The Lady and the Devil 

239 Avenger, or Moor of Sici- 

240 Masks and Faces [ly 



[ess 



{French's Standard Drama Continued on jd page of d 



VOL. XXXI. 

241 Merry Wives of Windsor 

242 Mary's Birthday 

243 Shaiidv Maguire 

244 Wild Oats 

245 Michael Erie 
•:46 Idiot Witness 
547 Willow Copse 

248 People's Lawyer 

VOL. XXkiL 

249 The Boy Martyrs 
260 Lucretia Borgia 

251 Surgeon of Paris 

252 Patrician's Daughter 

253 Shoemaker of Toulouse 

254 Momentous Question 
256 Love and Loyalty 
256 Robber's Wffe 

VOL. XXXIII. 
267 Dumb Girl of Genoa 
2i8 Wreck Ashore 

259 CKiri 

260 Rural Felicity 

261 Wallace 

262 Madelaine 

263 The Fireman 

264 Grist to the Mill 

VOL. XXXIV. 

265 Two Loves and a Life 

266 Annie Blake 

267 Steward 

268 C.iptain Kvd 

269 Niok of the Woods 

270 Marble Heart 

271 Second Love 

272 Dream at Sea 

VOL. XXXV. 

273 Breach of Promise 

274 Review 

275 Lady of the Lake 

276 Stilf Water Runs Deep 

277 The .Scholar 

278 Helping Hands 

279 Faust and Marguerite 

280 Last Man 

VOL. XXXVf. 

281 Belle's Stratagem 

282 Old and Y'ouug 

283 Raflfaella ^ 

284 Ruth Oakley • 

285 British Slave 
266 A Life's Ransom 
287 Giralda 

28s Time Tries All 

VOL. xxxvn. 

289 Ella Rosenburg 

290 Warlock of the Glen 

291 Zeiina 

292 Beatrice 

293 Neighbor Jack wood 

294 Wonder 

295 Robert Emmet 

296 Green Bushes 

VOL. xxxvin. 

297 Flowers of the Forest 

298 A Bachelor of Arts 

299 The Midnight Banquet 

300 Husband of an Hour 

301 Love's Labor Lost 

302 Naiad Queen 

303 Caprice 

304 Cradle of Libertr 

VOL. XXXIX. 

305 The Lost Ship 

306 Country Squire 

307 Fraud and its Victims 

309 King and Deserter 

310 La Fianiniina 

311 A Hard Struggle 

312 Gwinnette Vaughan 

VOL. XL. 

313 The Love Knot [Judge 

314 Lavat«r, or Not a Bad 

315 The Noble Heart 

316 Coriolanus 

317 The Winter's Tiile 
318Eveleen Wilson 

319 Ivanhoe 

320 Jonathan ia England 
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SAMUEL FRENCH, 26 West 22d Street, New York City. 

New and Explicit Descriptive Catalogue Mailed Free on Request. 



ONE SUMMER'S DAY 



H>rv. ESMOND 

AUTHOR OF " WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 



Copyright, 1900, by T. H. French 



New York 
SAMUEL FRENCH 

publisher 
26 WEST 22D STREET 



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SAMUEL FRENCH, Ltd. 
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^0,0' 



UMMER'S DAY. 



Produced at the Comedy Theatre, London, i6th September, 1897. 



CHARACTERS. 

Major Dick Rudyard Charles Hawtrey 

Phii, Marsden Cosmo vStuart 

Theodore Bendyshe Henry Kemble 

Robert Hoddesden Ernest Hendrie 

Tom, his Nephew Kenneth Douglas 

Seth, a Gipsy . Lyston Lyle 

The Urchin J. Bottomley 

Irene, Hoddesden' s Niece . . .Lettice Fairfax 

Maysie, his Ward Eva Moore 

Mrs. Theodore Bendyshe Mrs. Charles Calvert 

Bess, a Gipsy Lydia Rachel 

Chiara,* a Gipsy Constance Collier 

* Clara, Italian Chiara (Ke-a'ra). 



ONE SUMMER'S DAY. 



ACT I. 



Scene. — A corner of an island on the Thames on a 
bright sujnmer's day. At back, the river, and all 
round trees and bushes. Overhanging the %uater are 
willow trees, and in the foreground are two roughly 
made haystacks, the one R. about three feet high and 
four feet ift diameter at base ; the one L. four feet 
high. The whole scene fresh a7td green and cheerful, 
the birds siiiging in the trees. 

Bess, a7i old gipsy, is sitting against the smaller 
haystack, crooning softly to herself and plaiting a 
basket from a bundle of osiers. After a pause Seth 
lounges on from r., chewing a straw. He is a hajtd- 
some gipsy, his face somewhat sullen, age about 
thirty -five. 

Bess. (l. ; hardly looking at hi?n) Well, I've been 
waiting- here for near an hour. 

Seth. {suddenly) She ain't back yet. 
Bess. What's she up to ? 

{chewing the straw) That's our business. 

I'm no talker. 

{coming dow7i) She's gone to Windsor — for a 



Seth. 

Bess.' 

Seth. 
purpose. 

Bess. 

Seth. 

Bess. 

Seth. 

Bess. 

Seth. 
about. 

Bess. 



What's the game ? 

(R. C.) Quids — and lots of 'em, likely. 
Wot's it worth ? 

Maybe a 'undred — maybe more. 
{chuckling) Maybe less. 

Maybe. We'll chance it. She knows wot she's 

Well, out with it — wot's the game ? 



4 ONE SUMMER'S DAY. 

^ Seth. {crosses L.) Ye can't spoil it if I tells ye — so 
I'll tell ye. (BESS laughs harshly^ and after a pause 
Seth lounges across and leans against the other hay- 
stack, bending over the old ivoman and talking softly) 
You remember when her husband chucked her and went 
with his regiment to India ? 

Bess. I wonder he kept her so long. Lord ! she was 
a holy terror in those days. 

Seth. {drily) Ah— that ain't of no account. He took 
the kid wiv him. 

Bess. And glad she was to get rid of it. 

Seth. Ah — then the letter coming from that Captain 
Rudyard, saying her husband was dead of fever. 

Bess. Aye— and the kid too, and sending her hfty 
quid. 

Seth. {bending down, says quickly) It wasn't true. 

Bess, {startled) What ! her man not dead t 

Seth. Oh, yes — he went right enough — but the kid's 
alive. 

Bess. Mercy ! 

Seth. Chiarahas found out that Captain Rudyard has 
got a kid— seven years old — that he keeps at the Windsor 
school — a kid he's awful fond of — and as he ain't married, 
Chiara thinks 

Bess. Thinks it's hers .? 

Seth. Yes. 

Bess. Well, but she don't want the brat ? 

Seth. {scortifully) Not much ; but if the Captain 
wants to keep it for hisself, we thinks it will suit him to 
pay a little something for the loan. 

Bess. But where is this Rudyard ? 

Seth. 'Ere— stayin' off the High Street. He's in with 
the people from the Laurels — sweet on one of the gals 
there — we've been trying to tind him for near a year now, 
and we've run up against him at last. She's kept out of 
his way till we're sure of our game — an' if it's all right — ■ 
my gentleman will have to pay for keeping a loving 
mother from her child, {goes back c.) 

Bess. Serve him right, the unnatural villain, turning 
an honest woman's child into a gentleman — make 'im pay. 

Seth. (c.) Ah ! 

Bess. An' what's she gone to Windsor for ? 

Seth. To cast her eye over the blessed kid. {crosses 
R. C.) 



ONE SUMMERS DAY. 5 

Bess. How'd she know it ? 

Seth, (l. c.) Remember that time she swiped it over 
the eye .-* That mark'U be good enough for her. 

Bess. Oh, ah ! 

Seth. Is that the half-hour striking ? 

Bess. Yes. 

Seth. She ought to be {a distant whistle heard) 

That's her. {tnakes a quick move, is about to go ivhe?t 
Bess stops him) 

Bess, {stopping him) Bad luck comes fast enough — 
better wait — better wait. 

Seth. (slightly up 1.. C.) It's good luck that's coming 
coming our way now — why, she's made over six quid out 
of the young fool from the Laurels, and the old painter 
there, Bendyshe, has offered 'er ten quid to sit for 'er 
picture. 

Bess. She's a one-er — and no mistake. (Chiara, 
the gipsy, is seen coming quickly through the bushes 
from R. She is a beautiful woman of about thirty, dark- 
haired, heavy-eyed, a face of strongly-marked passions. 
She is picturesquely dressed in the /nixed costume of the 
tribe, and walks with a graceful swing, her hands on 
her hips, all her white teeth shining as she smiles. 
Seth goes eagerly to meet her) 

Seth. Well .? 

Chiara. {smiling at him) Well, my handsome Seth ? 

Seth. Out with it. (Chiara looks over her shoulder 
at Bess, hjtpatiently) All right — she knows. Is it the 
kid? 

Chiara, {carelessly) Yes, I knew my mark. Who 
says good don't come from evil ? If I hadn't lost my 
temper that night, we should ha* lost a fortune to-day. 

Seth. What'U it be worth, do ye think ? 

Chiara. Who knows ? 

Seth. We'll make my gentleman pay — and pay hand- 
some. 

Chiara. I've been there — didn't see him. He's com- 
ing over here this afternoon — a picnic with the folk from 
the Laurels. I'll tackle him then. 

Seth. You can't have it out before all the lot. 

Chiara. No, but I can meet him — look at him — re- 
mind him I'm alive — and then — we'll talk seriously to- 
gether a little later on. Lord ! how like his father that kid 
is. {flings herself dow 71 on the ground R.) And how 



6 ONE SUMxMER'S DAY. 

the sight of him brought back old times — those Oxford 
days — those stuffy rooms — me married — respectable. I 
wore a veil once. — Ah, ha ! fancy me in a veil — what a 
fool I felt. Then, a mother — me — more respectable. 
Phew ! Sick of it all ! You turn up again, and then our 
bolt together. Ah, ha ! what a time, the free fresh air 
— the — ah, well ! What a fool I was to make Jack marry 
me. 

Bess. Well, it didn't last long, dearie. 

Chiara. Who cares ? {suddenly) Has the fool boy 
been here ? 

Seth. Ain't seen him. [back L. c.) 

Chiara. 1 promised to meet him here at twelve. 

Seth. {coming definitely to business) Now, what 
about this Captain Rudyard ? {standing over L. c. of 
Chiara) 

Chiara. {lazily) W'hat about him ? Leave him to 
me — he's my affair. We'll get the money we want, and 
then we'll go north, my Seth ! (Bess gets tip, moving 

Chiara. {watching her as she goes) Moving on ? 

Bess. Yes, moving on. 

Seth. {fiercely) Tell us what you mean to do with 
Rudyard and this kid ? 

Chiara, {lazily) Shan't, so don't worry. Don't know 
as I shall do anything — depends how I feel. 

Seth. {going to her angrily) Look ye here ! 

Chiara. {smiling at his rage) Don't' bully me, it 
doesn't pay. {crawls to L. haystack) 

Bess. (L. of her) Tell him what you mean to do, 
dearie — black eyes ain't beautiful, and you're a-goin' to 
sit for your portrait, as I hear, {exit L. still croonifig 
a7i old dirge to herself) 

Seth. {standiiig over Chiara and talking angrily) 
I'll tell you what you've got to do : you goes to Captain 
Rudyard, and says — " 'Ere, you've stole my child and 
you've got to take the consequences.'' 

Chiara. {still smiling lazily at him) Which is 

Seth. Which is — you pays me fifty quid a year for the 
loan of 'im, or I hands you over to the law. 

Chiara. {to herself, smiling) He is a wise man, is 
my handsome Seth. {he makes an angry gesture, she 
stops him with a quick movement) 

Chiara. Hush ! Here comes the city man ! (after 



ONE SUMMER'S DAY. 7 

a slight pause, the Urchin strolls on r, — he is a 
chubby, broivn-faced, curly-haired little street Arab — his 
legs are bare, his trousers rolled iLp to the knee, tattered 
and 7)ia7iy sizes too large for him, the waist being al- 
most under his armpits. Over his shoulder lie carries 
a fishing rod fashioned out of a switch of willow j in the 
other hand is a large bottle swinging by a piece of 
string, the receptacle for the fish he hopes to catch, he 
nods to Seth and turning to Chiara looks at her with 
a disapproving eye. Smiling at him) Well, city man ! 

Urchin. (R. C. sternly) Don't you haclclress me ; 
I'm disgustercated wiv yer. 

Chiara. [pathetically) Ah ! How can we of the 
wilds hope to please you of the great town ? 

Urchin. [somewJtat mollified) I admits the 'andi- 
cap — but, Guv'nor, you mayn't be aweer on it — but yore 
missis's carrying-on's is enough to — to demoralize this yer 
wum ! {holds up worm admiringly, preparatory to bait- 
ing his hook) 

Seth. {laughing at Chiara. then to Urchin) I've 
been at work — my eyes have been shut, \yhat liave you 
seen, city man .? 

Urchin, {to Seth with dignity) 'Tain't for me to 
come atween man and wife, but yesterday there was a 
young torf, bless yer, a kid^ — orl collar and himpidence. 
'E flirted round yer missis, he guv her a quid, an' she guv 
him a kiss. 

Seth. {laughing) Well, city man, wot's wrong wi' 
that } She guv me the quid, and she guv the young torf 
his kiss back agin. 

Urchin, {fishing desperately) So long as you don't 
mind. 'Ow about th.e chap I calls 'Oppin' tub — Mr. 
Bendyshe, a-staying at the Laurels ? I sees 'imgive 'er a 
fiver to buy a shawl. 

Chiara. He says he's a great artist — he calls me Cleo- 
patra. 

Urchin, {scornfully) Cleopatra — pickles I {goes to 
bank and fishes R. c.) 

Chiara. {lying back, smiling lazily, her eyes half 
closed) He is a great artist — he is going to paint my face 
and make me immortal forever. I am to meet him this 
afternoon and he will commence. See, city man, how we 
live on the wisdom of fools. 

Seth. You meets 'ini agin to-day ? {rises; down c.) 



8 ONE SUMMER'S DAY. 

Chiara. {laughing) The fool boy at twelve, where we 
are. The fool man at four, by the osiers. 

Seth. It's on the stroke of •welve now — so long. Go 
slow with the schoolboy, Chiara. So long ! 1 ain't far off 
if yer want me. {exit L. at back) 

Chiara. The girls from the house-boat will come here 
to picnic soon. Which do you fancy, city man, the fair 
one or the dark ? 

Urchin. Ain't a marryin' man — time enuff for gals 
when fishin's orf. {scornfully — baits his hook labori- 
ously) There ain't one as can 'andle a wum as a wum 
should be 'andled — {he strikes) Corn again — sickening ! 

Chiara. {laughs, then listens) The fool boy is com- 
ing — take a lesson in folly, city man. {glides laughingly 
away into the willows L.) 

Urchin, {relieved at her departure) Good biz — a 
fellar carn't fish and tork to gals and loafers. Got 'im ! 
{with a yell of triu77iph he lands a minnow j after in- 
specting it with delight he puts it into bottle, then 
hearing some one coming he looks off) Lor ! 'ere comes 
the young torf, sure enuff. I ain't going to waste my time 
on the likes of 'im. {gets higher up the branch which 
about conceals him, and resumes his fishing) 

Enter Tom Reid, r. He is a haiidsome boy about seven- 
teen. He carries a small parcel, and is rather 
flushed and agitated, looks about anxiously as if ex- 
pecting some one. Takes out a Waterbttry watch. 

Tom. She's late. Just like all women. ' I needn't 
have swotted that last half-mile after all. {flings himself 
down tinder haystack L. and mops his jforehead—Jan- 
ning himselj) Bother the flies ! {as he lies, Chiara 
enters stealthily L. and, after looking routtd, catches 
sight of him, she creeps behind the haystack, and taking 
a piece of straw, tickles him with it on the nose. He is 
unaware of her presence and contimies cursing the 
flies, till at last he sees the efid of the straw and catch- 
ing it meets her laughing face round the haystack and 
springs tip in confusiojt) 

Chiara. Ain't I a pretty fly, pretty boy ? 

Tom. {abashed) I didn't mean to — oh — I say — I'm 
not late, am I ? 

Chiara. I like to wait for those I {stops, lower- 
ing her eyes timidly) 



ONE SUMMER'S DAY. 9 

Tom. {taking her hands — eagerly) Say it. 

Chiara. Say what ? 

Tom. What you were going to say. 

Chiara. [releasitig her hands) Nothing. 

Tom. [grins hugely with delight, then turning to her 
sheepishly) Will you have this ? {hands her the packet 
azukwardly) 

Chiara. {laughs, opetiing it, guessingwith her eyes 
shut, showi7ig her whole teeth in a smile) It's a jewel — 
no — it's a chain — no, it's a 

Tom. It's a chain — thought you'd like a chain — girls 
usually do. 

Chiara. (with a cry of genuine delight, putting it 
07i) My pretty boy ! {the7t with a deep sigh) Oh, why 
did you come down here ? {sits on haystack L.) 

Tom. I say, you're not sorry, are you .? 

Chiara. No. 

Tom. We're jolly good friends considering I've only 
known you three days, but I suppose that's always the 
way — when it's — well — I mean — serious, you know. 
{goes to back of haystack and leans over her) 

Chiara. {ear^iestly) Are you serious ? 

Tom. Oh, I say, you know, I'm dead serious. 

Chiara. {sadly) You'll go back to the great school 
soon, and I shall be left alone. 

Tom. {with sudden vehemence) Suppose I don't go 
back — suppose I cut it — and tell the governor of — of — our 
love — and you and I go somewhere — where it's all like 
this. Haystacks and sunshine — and loneliness — and oh, 
I say — you know, you are a stunner. 

Chiara. {shaking her head with mock pathos) I 
couldn't live in a town, I should stifle, {sighs and 
leaves him j crosses R.) 

Tom. {following her) What is it — you sighed ? 

Chiara. Don't ask me. 

Tom. I say, you know, I must ask you. We can't 
have secrets from each other. 

Chiara. {with apparejit reluctance) I'm in trouble. 

Tom. No, no. 

Chiara. At least not I, but my father. 

Tom. {deeply distressed aiid annoyed) I say again ! 

Chiara. {sadly) Yes — dear father, {then defiantly) 
We must live. 

Tom. Yes, but poaching, you know. 



lo ONE SUMMER'S DAY. 

Chiara. {with mock dignify) Poaching — that's what 
you call it, you who drive us from place to place — we 
iiiust live — we will live. We are wanderers, every man's 
hand is against us. So our hands are against every 
man's rabbits. 

Tom. Oh, I say ! 

Chiara. They are so many — and so fat — so slow ol 
foot — so convenient — that poor father — {then changing 
her tone to one of injured virtue) But don't fear, I shall 
not ask your help. I will sell your gift, and pay the tine, 
then we shall go away, {goes down L.) 

Tom. {a7ixionsly) I say, you know, don't go on like 
that, and don't sell that chain — it belongs to my sister. 

Chiara. You gave it to me. 

Tom. Yes — she don't wear it much— but don't sell it, 
you know, because when we're married she might miss it. 

Chiara. Did she give it to you for me ? 

Tom. Well, no ! I've not mentioned it yet ; she was 
rather huffy this morning, {moves a little R.) 

Chiara. {suddenly lifting her hand and listening) 
Voices — follow ! {she darts away L. into the bushes. 
TO'Sl follows, forgetting his hat by the haystack) 

Urchin, {showijtg his head end of tree) She's a 
corker — got off a father on him now. Wot'U she perduce 
next? I'm off women after this — they knows too much 
— give me wums ! (Phil Marsden heard off r. Dis- 
gusted) Lord love a duck — more torfs ! 

Phil, {cf) Hurry up, slow coach ! 

Dick, {off) I've got a pipe to carry. 

Enter Phil, a good-looking, soldierly, young man about 
twenty-five, quickly through trees. 

Phil. {after looking about him, goes to river at 
back C.) Hang it all, they haven't come. (Major 
Rudyard strolls Oft after him. He is a self-contaijied 
i7ian, gentle, slow of speech, very good-humored a)id 
rather lazy) 

Dick. Of course they haven't — needn't have hurried 
me — much too energetic — cultivate repose — as I do. 
{lies down calmly under haystack L. and ptffs placidly 
at his pipe) 

Phil. {looking across rivo') They said half-past 
twelve, didn't they .-* * 

Dick, {calmly) Oh, yes, they said half-past twelve. 



ONE SUMMER'S DAY. ii 

Phil. You're sure we were to meet them here ? 

Dick. Sure ! At least, I don't know — perhaps they 
said {pauses pensively, contemplating his pipe) 

Phil, {impatiently) Said what ? 

Dick, {much perplexed) Did they say we were to 
call for them there, or meet them here — I wonder ? 

Phil. Great Scotland ! — you told me 

Dick. One or the other — it was one or the other ; we 
can't be far wrong, you see. 

Phil, {desperate) Suppose they're waiting for us 
there .? 

Dick. Well, they can't grumble ; we're waiting for 
them here. 

Phil. What a nice situation ! 

Dick. Very, but it won't last — they're sure to rout us 
out — they're girls, you know, {knocks the ash out of his 
pipe slowly) Now if I hadn't sent my kiddie to school 
this couldn't have happened. You see he looks after me 
like a mother, wouldn't dream of letting me forget a little 
thing like a picnic — at daybreak he'd dash out of his little 
bed into mine and pound me on the chest and bawl into 
my nearest ear, " Wake up, Dickie, we're going picnic ; " 
but now you see because I was a brute, and sent the little 
beggar to school, we've muddled matters. 

Phil, {scornfully) We .? 

Dick. Well, I've muddled matters, {tucks himself 
comfortably into haystack, then speaks dreamily) Damn 
shame sending little kiddies to school — stufl'y school — 
gorgeous green fields — great sweeping blue sky — fresh 
air into tiny lungs — much better than squeaky slates and 
horrid niggling sums that won't add up. 

Phil. Oh, shut up, Dick ! 

Dick. Ah, forgot — swore I wouldn't mention kiddie, 
all day, didn't I ? Sorry — accident — you're awful rough 
on me — but then you're not a father. 

Phil. Neither are you. 

Dick. That's true — but you needn't shove it down my 
throat. 

Phil, {suddenly, lookiftg off\.., breaks into a laugh) 
Dick, look here ! — by Jove, it's an awful lark. 

Dick, {lazily) Couldn't move for an earthquake. 
{quickly jumping up) Dash it — must for earwigs ! 
(brushes an earwig off his arm, then lies down again) 

Phil. It's young Tom and that gipsy girl ; I told you 



12 ONE SUMMER'S DAY. 

about it last night — by Gad, the little beggar's very hard 
hit. It's as good as a play, 

Dick. It's a play that can become very serious. It 
must be stopped. 

Phil. Pooh ! Boys will be boys. 

Dick. Boys like Tom are old enough and young enough 
to put millstones round their necks — as boys they like the 
weight — as men they find it heavy — sometimes it crushes 
'em. 

Phil. What's up now ? 

Dick. I was thinking of poor old Jack. 

Phil, {gravely) By Gad, I forgot ; his affair was 
with a gipsy, wasn't it ? 

Dick. His affair — we don't worry over other people's 
millstones. 

Phil. Pooh ! Jack was a sentimental idiot ; he mar- 
ried the girl. 

Dick, {quietly) Jack was a gentleman ; Jack was a 
chum of mine ; Jack was the father of my kiddie ; don't 
forget that ! 

Phil. I'm sorry, old chap, {pause) I say though, 
you ought to come and look at this girl — she's magnifi- 
cent. Tom's got devilish good taste. 

Dick. Devilish is right. 

Phil. Come and look at her. 

Dick. Not I — I hate the tribe — never feel safe when 
I think of 'em. 

Phil, {crosses R.) You're too old and too ugly for 
kidnapping, Dicky. 

Dick. Shut up, you fool ! 

Phil. My dear Dick, you're thinking of that kid again 
— you're as nervous as a hen with one chicken. 

Dick. If the hen knew that the chicken didn't belong 
to her, I've the deepest sympathy with her nervousness, 

Phil. One would think that all the world had formed 
into a league to rob you of your most ordinary little boy. 

Dick. He is not an ordinary little boy ; he is a — a — 
{his voice changes to one of great tenderness and he lies 
071 his back chucklittg contentedly) He's all right ; and 
when I get back to town I'm going to buy him the largest 
cannon to be got for money — you know I think that's a 
fine trait in that boy's character — he'd a dem sight sooner 
play with a cannon and talk with the chaps after mess 
than sit m a poky nursery learning the alphabet ! 



ONE SUMMER'S DAY. 13 

Phii- Marvellous ! 

Dick, {grunts with pleasure, sjnokes peacefully — 
after lo7ig pause) Phil, you blundering ass, ifyou ever let 
out to a soul that I'm not kiddie's real father, I'll use my 
influence with the War Office, and get you reduced to 
the ranks. 

Phil. I'm as safe as a house ; but I wonder what has 
become of his mother. 

Dick, (desperately) Great Scotland ! — the sun's blaz- 
ing upon us — the gentle breezes are kissing us — the ear- 
wigs and centipedes are crawling in and out and all over 
us — two jolly girls are kicking their heels waiting for us, 
Heaven knows where — and you rake up that eternal night- 
mare of mine — and for the love of goodness give me a 
match, for my pipe's out. 

Phil, {chucking him a matchbox) Go easy, there 
are only three. 

Dick, {strikes one, the head conies off) Wrong 'un ! 
{strikes another, again the head comes off) Two wrong 
'uns ; my dear Phil, why don't you support home indus- 
tries, who cares for Sweden on the banks of the Thames ! 
{strikes the last and lights his pipe, handi7ig back the 
empty box) 

Phil. Thanks, old man ; hope there were enough ! 

Dick, {puffing peacefully) Just ! 

Phil, {rises j looking at him) Lazy beggar; don't 

you think w^e had better go and see if the girls {up c. 

a little) 

Dick. My dear chap, why girls ? You know per- 
fectly well that there's only one girl you think about — a 
girl with dark hair and gentle eyes — a girl with a sweet 
voice and — and a little turned-up nose. 

Phil. Shut up, Dick ! 

Dick, {after a pause) If I ask you a straight ques- 
tion, will you give me a straight answer ? 

Phil. Yes. {pause) Well .? 

Dick. Don't quite like to ask you now. 

Phil. Go on, out with it ! 

Dick. Shall— I— yes— I— I think I will. 

Phil. Well ? {a long pause, the two men looking 
awkwardly at otie another) 

Dick. Do you love her very dearly ? 

Phil. Very dearly, Dick. 

Dick, {after a pause) Good luck to you, boy. 



14 ONE SUxMMER'S DAY. 

Phil, {comiftg dowti slowly) Dick ! 

Dick. Old man ! 

Phil. {Jmskily) Will you answer me a straight 
question straightly ? 

Dick. Can't say ; what is it ? 

Phil, {simply, but with an almost trembling voice) 
Do you — love her, Dick ? 

Dick, {after a pause — smokes vigorously , theft says 
slowly) My dear boy — I'm thirty-eight — I've got four 
hundred a year, I've got a little kiddie to launch into the 
dreary old sea of trouble — I promised Jack he should 
have all the modern armor plates and improvements to 
keep him afloat — metaphor's a bit mixed — but translated 
it means — my hands are too full to tackle such a serious 
subject as matrimony. 

Phil. You've not answered me, Dick. 

Dick. Not answered you ? {pause, then with mock 
gravity) Circumstances have made me the father of a 
family of one ; it's obviously too late to think of a wife 
now. {gets up, holds out his hand cheerily) Good luck 
to you, boy, you're a damned good chap and — and — she's 
— she's, well ^^^^ know what she is, and don't forget to 
ask kiddie and me to the wedding, {crosses R. c.) 

Phil, (c, laughi?ig) Perhaps she won't have me. 

Dick. (r. c.) Won't have you — she must have you. 
Don't stand any nonsense like that. 

Phil. Women are curious critters. 

Dick, {dreamily) Women are women still, some of 
and let's be grateful for those that are left, say 




{quietly) I mean to ask her to-day. 
{stiddenly) What ! you've not asked her yet — 
God bless my soul — and you've left her eating her heart 
out on a picnic basket all this time. By Gad ! if I'd been 
in your shoes I'd have eloped with her years ago, picnic 
basket and all. 

Phil. I've only known her five months. 

Dick, {{half to himself, dreamily) I've known her 
since she was a baby in arms — and — and — I've — I've 
been damned fond of her all the time, 

Phil. Let's go and see if they're at the other place. 

Dick. You go, I'll finish my pipe, {returns to hay- 
stack) 

Phil, {looking dowfi the river) By Jove, here they 



ONE SUMMER'S DAY. 15 

come — then we were right — oh, I say, hang it all, they've 
brought old Bendyshe with them. 

Dick. What an all-absorbing power is jealousy ! — it 
doesn't stop short of an Adonis of fifty with a sixty- 
inch waist. 

Phil, (^shouting cheerfully at the approaching punt) 
Oh, I say, this isn't 12.30. 

Maysie. {calls back) We had to go back ; Mr. Ben- 
dyshe forgot his umbrella. {?¥i\\. groans at DiCK, who is 
still propped up against the haystack smoking placidly. 
The punt appears in sight. Maysie is punting, she is 
dressed in white. In the punt Irene, <i cheerful, jolly 
girl, and Bendyshe, a rubicund, cherubic little man of 
about fifty, very jau7ity in his tnanner ; he walks very 
springily, and is evidently proud of the sinallness of 
his hands, and unconscious of the largeness of his waist) 

Maysie. (from the punt) We're very sorry ; do say, 
better late than never. 

Phil. Rather ! 

Maysie. Why, where 's Major Rudyard ? (Irene 
gets ashore) 

Phil. He's having a snooze in the haystack. 

Dick, {not moving) Be thou as chaste as ice, as 
wideawake as winkles, thou shalt not escape calumny. 
(Maysie gets ashore and stands at back, l. Phil is 
mooring the puftt) 

Irene. {directi7ig) Yes, that's the branch ; hang on 
there, Mr. Bendyshe. {stoops over the punt for news- 
papers) 

Ben. {jauntily) I'm hanging on to a branch — dear 
me, the idea is quite Absalomic. 

Phil. The fulfilment isn't. He did have S077te hair. 
(Bendyshe, who has bee7i gracefully fi7tni7ig hi7nself 
with his hat, hastily puts it 071 to co7iceal his baldness) 

Dick. Don't mind him, Bendyshe, baldness is beauti- 
ful to the artistic soul. Doesn't it gratify you to know 
that your head is a delicate harmony in pink and gray ? 

Ben. {is about to say S077iethi7ig withering wJie7i a 
wasp circling roiaid his hat, he strikes at it with 
terror) A wasp again — another wasp — why do they 
always want to sit down on me ? 

Irene. Your fatal fascination ! There ! beauty to 
the rescue of brains, {hits out tvith newspaper a7id 
knocks the wasp into the river. Gives paper to Dick 



l6 ONE SUMMER'S DAY. 

and moves C. and works tip to punt, L. Meanwhile the 
piifit has beeii tied up and they all have got on to the 
island) 

Maysie. Shall we lunch in the punt or on shore ? 

Phil. Oh, the old spot ! {Jie sits behind L. haystack, 
smokes cigarette) 

Irene. Uncle Robert and Mrs. Bendyshe are coming 
the other way ; they ferried over. 

Maysie. {has co7ne round haystack and is looking 
down at Dick) Good-morning, Major Dick. 

Dick, {looking up at her lazily) Morning, miss. 

Maysie. Are you quite comfortable ? 

Dick. Caterpillary — caterpillary. (Jie reads) 

Ben. [to Phil at back) Marsden, I'm dreadful bold 
coming here. 

Phil. Why ? 

Ben. My ideal Cleopatra is on this island — my abso- 
lute ideal. 

Phil. What, another? 

Ben. Hush ! I've got an appointment with her at 
four; don't tell my wife — breaks her heart. A few years 
ago she was my ideal Cleopatra — dear thing, she's past 
it — don't tell her, but — she really has, you know — she 
don't think she's changed a bit, women never do, you 
know, but she has, you know. 

Dick, {to Maysie, looking at her through his half- 
closed eyes) Then the skirt did get back from the 
cleaners ! 

Maysie. Obviously. 

Dick, {critically) Um ! — you look — all right. 

Maysie. Thank you ; you look grumpy as usual. 

Dick. Am grumpy — hate picnics without kiddie. 

Maysie. {holding out her hand) Sixpence, please. 

Dick. Eh ? 

Maysie. Mr. Marsden's fine whenever you mention 
kiddie. 

Dick, {groans and gives her sixpence) You're all 
awful rough on me. Tell me, am I a bore about him ? 

Maysie. A bore ? — gracious, no. {laughing) 

Dick. Then why do you all 

Maysie. Fine you ? For fun. 

Dick. Can't help it, you know. I'm awful fond of him. 

Maysie. So am I. 

Dick, {delighted) Are you, though ? 



ONE SUMMER'S DAY. 17 

Maysie. But you should say " awfully fond," not 
awful fond. 

Dick. Should I ? I say, he's going- to write me a 
long letter to-day. You'll let me read it to you, won't 
you ? 

Maysie. Yes. 

Dick. I read 'em to everybody, but I like r ding 'em 
to you best. 

Maysie. {pleased) Do you ? Why ? 

Dick. Because everybody else laughs at his spelling. 

Maysie. Is that the only reason you like to read them 
to me ? 

Dick. Er — well '^ 

Maysie. Your spelling isn't very good, you know, so 
I expect it's hereditary. 

Dick. You're awful rough on me. 

Maysie. {correcttjig) Awfully ! 

Dick. You confess it. 

Phil, {coming down) What do you confess ? 

Maysie. That I've got a plebeian appetite and it's 
waking up. Please get the basket, it's in the punt. 
(Phil goes and gets luticheon basket from punt. Ben- 
DYSHE and Irene begi7i to get out cushions, which they 
arratige between the two haystacks) 

Dick, {to Maysie, as he lies smoking, his hat tilted 
over his eyes) Dear old chap, Phil, isn't he ? {pause) 
Don't you think so ? 

Maysie. He's very nice. 

Dick. Smartest soldier I know. 

Maysie. Really ? 

Dick. Well off, too. 

Maysie. I dare say. 

Dick. Awfully in love with somebody I know. 

Maysie. How interesting ! 

Dick. Sort of man — make a good husband. 

Maysie. Then I hope he'll marry her. 

Dick. So do I. 

Maysie. Ah ! 

Dick. What do you mean by " ah "? 

Maysie. What do you mean by being silly ? 

Dick. You're awful rough on me. 

Maysie. You're awful dense. (Bendyshe wanders 
about. Irene gets up l. Urchin throws twigs at 
him) 



i8 ONE SUMMERS DAY. 

Dick, {repeating slowly) Awful dense — bad gram- 
mar — worse than kiddie's spelling, I'll swear. Ought I 
to get up and help } 

Maysie. I shouldn't. You look awful comfortable. 

Dick. Am — but your grammar disturbs me — some- 
thing awful, {smokes placidly. IRENE is up L. at back 
picking flowers') 

Maysie. Mr. Marsden and I will do all the work as 
usual, {goes to Phil ; they commence to unpack basket) 

Phil. It's rather early for lunch, you know. Hullo ! 
somebody's been sitting on the butter. 

Dick, {lo hifnself) She's awful fond of him. Poor 
old kiddie'll have to be content with me, after all. (Ben- 
DYSHE has been potterifig about s suddoily he gives a 
little scream. Is coming R., sees Urchin) Hullo, 
Bendyshe, what's up ? 

Ben. {coming to Dick) There's that dreadful boy 
that laughed at me last week, sitting up in that tree. 

Dick, {calmly) You don't say so. Is he violent ? 

Ben. Not yet. But he's — he's an urchin — I cannot 
feel safe in his presence. Do you know, only last Friday 
he met me in the High Street and he said quite loudly, 
"'Ullo, old 'Oppin' tub, what price, Cleopatra.?" 

Dick, {calmly) Write to the Times. 

Ben. You're a very curious young man — you don't 
seem to take any interest in anything. 

Dick, {calmly) You're quite wrong ; your disclo- 
sure has deeplv agitated me. Now if I were you • 

Ben. Well'? 

Dick. Well — ^I should never forgive him — in fact I 
should tell him so. "Hopping tub" — what could he 
mean ? 

Ben. Heaven knows. But the policeman who over- 
heard him laughed quite loudly, till I gave him — a 
glance. 

Dick. Ah ! (Bendyshe crosses r. Irene, inho has 
beefi wandering about picking flowers, comes across the 
hat Tom has left by the haystack, L.) 

Irene, {picking up hat) Good gracious ! 

All. What's up ? 

Irene. Tom's hat. How on earth did it get here ? 

Maysie. On Tom's head, I should think. 

Dick. Awful brainy girl. 

Irene. Now — where's Tom ? 



ONE SUMMER'S DAY. 



19 



Ben. Where's Tom ? 

Phil. Oh, Tom's all right, he's about the island some- 
where — seven bottles of gmger beer. 

Maysie. One's milk. 

Phil. Which ? 

Maysie. How can I tell ? 

Irene, {with Tom's hat, countiiig) One, two, three, 
seven flies sticking in the lining. 

Urchin, {putihig his head out of tree) Seven — 
them's mine. 

Ben. That dreadful boy ! Come out of that tree, 
urchin, {goes R. of tree) 

Urchin, {swinging himself down) Just a-comin', 
mister. 

Ben. {feebly) He'll call me that awful name again. 

Urchin. Shan't, mister — you kin rely on me — I 
knows what I knows, but mum's the word. 

Phil. Get away, small boy. 

Urchin, Right, guv'nor. (swaggers off r., hununing 
a cockney ballad. As he passes Bendyshe he says in a 
jnelodrantatic whisper) Ta, ta, 'Oppin' tub, what price, 
Cleopatra ? {exit r.) 

Ben. Gracious, that boy does know something. Are 
you going. Miss Reid 1 

Irene. Will you come ? I'm going to look for my 
brother. The head can't be far from the hat, can it ? 
{goes R.) 

Ben. The dreadful urchin went that way. I trust he 
won't think I'm pursuing him ? 

Irene. Uncle Robert and your wife ferried over to 
that end of the island, so you're quite safe. The most 
depraved urchin becomes as meek as a lamb at a sight of 
Uncle Robert. 

Ben. Yes, Robert is invertebrate, but awe-inspiring. 
I think it must be the side whiskers, don't you ? {they 
exeunt, talking, R. Maysie and Phil meanwhile have 
laid the lunch on the grass and are kiieeling on opposite 
sides of tJie cloth, contemplating it) 

Phil. Seems to be an awful lot of food, 

Maysie. We are a large party — seven of us, 

Phil. Old Bendyshe usually eats enough for three. 

Maysie. He's been at the death of Cleopatra for fifteen 
years, it takes it out of him. Besides, all great artists 
want a lot of sustaining, you know, {goes to punt) 



20 ONE SUMMER'S DAY. 

Phil. Great artists — um — I didn't know he was a 
great artist. 

Dick, {frofn the other side of haystack) He is — 
weigh him. 

Phil. Hullo ! Thought you'd gone for a walk. 

Dick. Eh ? {looks round hurriedly, sees for the first 
time he is the only one left) Oh, by Jove, of course — 
quite forgot I wanted a walk, {gets matches. Maysie is 
at back hu7iting for something. Phil signals to DiCK 
to go. Fiercely) All right, you're awful rough on me 
— such a restful haystack, {lights his pipe — to him. 
self) Why the deuce can't they walk — hate walking 
— such monotonous movement. {has previously got 
matches from lunch basket) 

Maysie {up; suddenly) There, I knew we'd do it, 
and we have. 

Phil. What have we done ? 

Maysie. Forgotten the salt. 

Dick, {sarcastically) Good gracious I 

Maysie. Somebody must go and fetch it. 

Dick. Now she's at it, she loves him fearfully. 

Maysie. Oh, please somebody be quick — it's past 
luncheon time now. 

Dick. All right, don't bother me — somebody's going 
as fast as he can. {stalks off tip C.) 

Maysie. Where are you going ? 

Dick. I'm going for a long walk. 

Maysie. What on earth for .? 

Dick. Phil thinks it will do me good. 

Maysie. Then when Mr. Marsden goes for the salt I 
shall be left alone. 

Dick, {sarcastically) When Mr. Marsden goes for 
the salt you will be quite alone. 

Maysie. But I wotit be left alone. 

Dick. Phil, how dare you glare at me'? All right. 
Maysie, Fm off. Don't be cross, you shan't be left alone ; 
but seriously I don't think I can conscientiously devote 
more than a quarter of an hour to looking for salt by the 
riverside ; I should lose respect for myself. 

Maysie. Mr. Marsden could fetch it, but, {gets rather 
aftgry) of course, if you want to go 

Dick. I do. 

Maysie. You'll have to punt across, it's in the left- 
hand corner of the boathouse. 



ONE SUMMER'S DAY. 21 

Dick. Oh, I say, I bar punting. Can't I get it just as 
effectually if I lie down over there ? 

M AYSIE. {coniiiig to him fiercely^ clenching her hands 
and stamping her foot, lookifig ijtto his face) Major 
Dick, I hate you ; you've been perfectly horrid for weeks. 

Dick, (greatly astonished) I am doing my best ; 
you're awful rough on me. 

M AYSIE. {coldly) Mr. Marsden, will you get the salt, 
please ? 

Phil, (aghast) Do you really want salt ? 

Maysie. Of course I do. What do you think I — oh — 
(tossing her head) You're both very rwde, I'll get it 
myself, (jumps into the punt) 

Dick, (aghast to Phil) She does want salt. You're 
an ass, Phil. 

Phil. How could I tell she wanted salt ? (Maysie is 
try ing to lai tie punt) 

Dick. She i-^/^ so. (suddenly) Here! Come out of 
that punt. 

Maysie. I shall do no such thing. Oh, who tied this 
awful knot ? 

Dick, (firmly) Come out of that punt — out of it. 
I've been as good as a father to you ever since you were 
a snub-nosed little infant, and I'm not going to be dis- 
obeyed now, just because you've developed an absurd but 
genuuie craving for salt. Out of it ! (jtimps into pitnt, 
helps her out) Left-hand corner of the boathouse. I'll 
fetch it, if the exertion exhausts me. (to Phil aside ear- 
nestly) Gook luck, old boy, good luck, (shoves off; 
Maysie walks about picking at the haystack, L. ; Phil 
watches her and gets very nervous) 

Phil. There's nobody here now. 

Maysie. So I perceive. 

Phil, (feebly) Yes, but you know I mean — they're 
all gone. 

Maysie. I thought you meant that, (down haystack, 

L.) 

Phil. I am going too in — in a month or so. 

Maysie. Yes. 

Phil. I don't suppose I shall be back for some time. 
(long pause) 

Maysie. Your mother will m.iss you fearfully. 

Phil. I couldn't possibly take her with me, you 
know. 



22 ONE SUMMER'S DAY. 

Maysie. I suppose not. A soldier taking his mother 
about with him would be odd. 

Phil. Yes ; but of course — if she were one's wife — it 
would be quite different, wouldn't it t 

Maysie. Quite different. 

Phil. That's often done, you know. 

Maysie. Is it ? 

Phil, {earnestly) Will you ? I — I love you so. I 

cant go away from you — I want {Jie 7nakes a move 

towards her) 

Maysie. Hush, please. 

Phil. Oh, Maysie ! 

Maysie. I like you very much, Phil dear — but — but — 
let go my hand, there's a good boy. 

Phil, {huskily) You mean, you won't marry me t 

Maysie. Oh, don't — please don't. 

Phil. How — what can I do ? 

Maysie. Nothing, Oh, Phil dear, I'm so sorry — so 
very sorry. 

Phil. It's all right, Maysie, it's all right, {ticrnsfroni 
her and goes quickly to bank where he stands for a 
moi7ient to recover hiinself) 

Maysie. {sadly) I feel so wicked, but I can't help it. 
It's not my fault. 

Phil. It's all right — it's all right. I was a fool as 
usual, that's all. {speaks almost fiercely to hide his break- 
ing down) When we get alM-oad, Dick will soon knock 
this out of me, 

Maysie. {looking up quickly) Dick ! You don't 
mean — he's not going, 

Phil. Yes, he's going too, but he doesn't want it 
known yet. 

Maysie. Dick — going away — going away, {^oes up 
L. to C, back) 

Phil, {watching her — -to himself) It's Dick after all 
— after all. {gets R,) 

HODD. {heard talking in the distance) My dear 
madam, it's not more swampy than most islands. 



Enters energetically R,, followed by Mrs, Bendyshe. 
Bendyshe and Irene complete the party. Hodd is 
intensely commonplace, his whiskers cut plainly , his 
chin clean-shaved, his linen scrupulously clean. 



ONE SUMMER'S DAY. 23 

Mrs. Bendyshe a7id Bendyshe shmiltaneously ex- 
press delight at the sight of lunch. 

Mrs. B. Lunch ready — how considerate. 

Ben. The river does make one hungry. 

HODD. Fall lo — fall to. Bendyshe, help your wife to 
sit down. 

Maysie. {coining down c, R. of Bendyshe) Hadn't 
we better wait 1 Major Rudyard lias gone for the salt. 

Irene, (r. c.) Mr. Bendyshe, 1 solemnly committed 
the salt to your charge. 

Ben. (l. c, helping his wife to reach the ground) I 
did endeavor — are you all down, my dear } — that's right. 
But I forgot it on the canoe in the right-hand corner of 
the boathouse. 

Maysie. {firmly) Left hand. 

Ben. Right-hand, l^ecause 1 bumped my body on the 
stern — of the canoe. 

Maysie. I told Major Dick left hand. 

Mrs. B. {interrupting feverishly) Theodore, raise 
me — I'm sitting on something. 

Ben. {raising her with difiic2ilty) You're rather 
fussy, dear. 

Mrs. B. {with digttity) I was sitting on something 
knobby, Theodore. 

Ben. {picking it tip) Only a ginger beer bottle ; 
really, you're ^«z7<? fussy, {sits down R. Urchin strolls 
on, smiles blandly at BENDYSHE, who frowns feebly and 
pretends not to see hint) 

Irene. What's the matter with you, Mr. Marsden, 
you look depressed ? 

Phil. Not I. I suppose I'm hungry, 

Ben. {with artificial gaiety, being upset by the prox- 
imity of the Urchin) Won't somebody open the gmger 
beer ? The bottle nearest my wife will open itself in a 
minute. It's hzzing a positive tune. 

Urchin. {to himself) The fat lady was a-sitting 
on it. 

Maysie. Mr. Bendyshe, to make up for the salt, we 
order you to put them in the river by that willow to keep 
them cool, {she loads him with five or six bottles, and 
he retires to the bank, closely followed by Urchin) 

HODD. {attacking the food) What the dickens has 
become of Tom ? Haven't seen him all day. 



24 ONE SUMMER'S DAY. 

Mrs. B. {calmly eating) The way you worry over 
that freckled schoolboy is ridiculous. 

HODD. Ridiculous ! 

Mrs. B. Yes. You bully the life out of him when he's 
with you — salt, please. Of course it's forgotten. 

HODD. Discipline — discipline. 

Mrs. B. {co7itinuUig) And when he's gone away 
from you, you're perfectly miserable. 

HODD. [eating) Of course I am ; he — he's a young 
scoundrel. 

Mrs. B. You love him all the better for it. 

HoDD. Of course I do. I'm an old fool. 

Mrs. B. {preparing a salad, screams) It's charming 
of nature to make caterpillars such a beautiful green, but 
it would help if she made lettuces black. I hate mis- 
understandings over one's food, {throws away sjnall 
caterpillar with the help of spoon) 

HoDD. Pie — who says pie ? 

Enter ToM, L. 

Tom. {cheerfully) I don't mind a little pie. {he sits 
L.) 

HODD. Hullo, sir ! Where have you been all the 
morning ? 

Tom. All over the place, uncle. Where's Major 
Dick? 

HoDD. {fiercely) How dare you question the where- 
abouts of your elders ? — he's fetching salt. (Bendyshe 
retires with ginger beer) 

Mrs. B. That man's a mystery ! More bread, please. 
I asked him yesterday what his wife died of. 

Irene. Well ? 

Mrs. B. Well, my dear, he looked quite scared, and 
— and said he didn't know. Don't laugh, it's very odd. 
Old Lady Carter, who was in India at the time, says she 
never met her anywhere, and went so far as to in- 
sinuate 

Maysie. {i7iterrupting quickly) Major Dick is a 
very old friend of mine, Mrs. Bendyshe. Can you eat 
crust ? {hands her bread on the point of knife, which 
Mrs. Bendyshe takes with a sniff) 

Mrs. B. I prefer it — quite right to stand up for your 
friends, my dear— quite stale — perhaps he contided in 
you — more digestible. 



ONE SUMMER'S DAY. 25 

Maysie. I have no curiosity on the subject. 

Mrs. B. {eating) His little boy is a nice little boy, 
and very fond of his father, but whenever I look at him, I 
shake my head — I can't help it. (Bendyshe returns for 
the other three bottles) 

HODD. {briskly) Come, come, no scandal ! Dick's 
all right, though he does spoil that brat. 

Mrs. B. But all the mystery makes one wonder. 

HoDD. {interrupting) Pooh ! He'll be back in a 
minute ; ask him what you like to his face. 

Mrs. B. Not for worlds ! — such impertinence. Please 
pass the lettuce. I'll chance the caterpillars. (Bendyshe 
has jneanivhile been ettdeavoring to deposit the bottles 
in the river. Urchin beitig deeply interested in the 
operation) 

Urchin. {wo?ideringly) 'Oppin' tub, wot are you 
at? 

Ben. {shaking a bottle at him) Go away, you dread- 
ful little boy. 

Urchin, {stolidly) 'Oppin' tub, is that stout party, 
with geraniums sticking out of 'er 'at and green stuff 
stickin' out of 'er mouth, your missis ? No bunkum ! 

Ben. {feebly) Yes — oh, yes. 

Urchin. Then the question as arises is: Wot price, 
Cleopatra ? 

Ben. He is a dreadful boy. (Urchin in pantoviime 
h'vies blackmail in the for )n of all the ginger beer, which 
he carries off and mysteriously secretes in the long grass; 
meanwhile general chatter going otifrom the party roinid 
the food) 

HODD. {fiercely to ToM) Don't eat so much, sir — 
you'll explode, {in the pause is heard a sweet, low voice 
sifiging) 

Watching the restless skies 

Chiara dreams. 
Watching the pale moon rise 

Chiara dreams. 
Kissed by the sun's warm rays 

Chiara dreams. 
Dreams are her nights, her days. 
Chiara dreams. 
(Bendyshe resumes his seat) 

Phil. By Jove ! it's the gipsy, {gets ttp, goes to 
back r., looks offi..) 



26 ONE SUMMER'S DAY. 

Irene. Oh, what fun ! 

Tom and Ben. A gipsy ! {they at once become ab- 
sorbed in pie) 

Mrs. B. Where ? Oh, yes. 

HODD. Gipsies — wasps — give me my own mahogany. 

Ben. {looking off nervously) Dear, oh, dear — it's my 
Cleopatra ! 

Chiara e?tiers slowly, her basket of osiers on her arm. 

Irene, {in a whisper) Isn't she handsome, Mr. 
Bendyshe ? 

Ben. {swallowing his food i?t chunks, not daring to 
look tip) No ! Plain — perfectly plain. 

Mrs. B. Theodore, look at her ; she's beautiful ! 

Ben. {^furtively glances) No, no. Plain — perfectly 
plain. 

HODD. {fiercely) Who's attending to the drinks ? 
I'm parched. 

Phil, {comes down R. of Maysie. Has been to the 
riverside) Can't find it. What on earth has become of 
the ginger beer ? 

Ben. {smiling feebly) Perhaps it has been washed 
away. (Chiara coines down to the picnic party and 
commences in the gipsy whine to Maysie) 

Chiara. Tell your fortune, pretty lady — cross the 
gipsy's hand with a piece of silver. Tell your fortune 
with the handsome gentleman at your side. 
His eyes are blue, 
His heart is true. 
Is his love for you, 
Or who ? 

Phil, {fiercely) No ! no ! {moves to R. of Irene. 
Sits) 

Chiara. {s?niles and turns to Bendyshe) Tell your 
fortune, pretty gentleman ? 

Ben. {loftily) No, no, my dear — go away. 

Chiara. {seizes his hajid as he waves her off, look- 
ing eagerly at it but speaking to him) Married where 
you do not love. 

Mrs. B. Theodore ! You've been chatting again. 

Chiara. Loving where you may not marry. A dark 
girl with a passionate soul claims you. Here is a line 
which says, beware ! she has a husband. Beware the 
husband. 



ONE SUMMER'S DAY. 27 

Ben. Oh, my gracious ! 

ChiarA. {turning to ToM) Tell your fortune, pretty 
boy .? 

Irene, {aside to Maysie) Look at the chain she's 
wearing, 

Maysie. It's yours exactly. 

Irene. It's extraordinary. 

Chiara. {chaitting over Tom's hand) Someone is 
leaving you that you dearly love — someone whom you 
will never see again. She will wander all over the dreary 
world — but she will always keep a corner in her heart 
for you. 

HODD. There's half a crown. Go away, my good 
girl, or I'll send for the police. 

Chiara. Don't be hard on a poor girl, pretty gen- 
tleman. 

HoDD. Damn the wasps ! {the punt shoots on at 
back. Dick springs out, carrying a large browji bag of 
salt) 

Dick. Not in the boathouse at all. Bought sixpenny 
worth. Lord, such a quantity ! Gave all I could to little 
boys, {as he steps into the circle he sees Chiara, stops 
dead; they recognize each other, she smiles at him) 

Chiara. God bless you, ' pretty gentleman. Lives 
once crossed, will cross and cross again, {she backs oj 
ifito the -willows, R., her eyes fixed Ofi Dick, her laugh 
heard as she disappears, breaking into a chant-like song. 
Simultaneously the bag drops from his hand, a7td the 
salt falls in a cascade on to the cloth. They all lean 
forward to gather it up, with varioits exclamations) 

Maysie. What does she mean ? 

Omnes. {greatly excited) You're spilling the salt ! 
Look out ! Good gracious ! etc. (Dick stands staring 
blankly after Chiara) 

CURTAIN. 



28 ONE SUMMER'S DAY. 



ACT II. 



After lujtch. Mrs. Bendyshe has retired to the punt, as 

has HODD. ; Phil is s7noking gloomily aicd chatting to 

Tom tip R. c. Tom r. c. ; Phil r. ; Bendyshe is dozing 

by haystack L. 

Irene, {back of haystack, r., energetically) I never in 
my life saw such a congregation of dull people. We 
came here for a happy day, and look at you. Mr. Mars- 
den, dumb and morose, declines to flirt with me ; Maysie 
mooning about with her eyes on the ground. Mr. Ben- 
dyshe snoring under a haystack ; Mrs. Bendyshe and Uncle 
Robert alternately reading and dozing in the punt ; Tom, 
evidently with something desperate on his mind ; Major 
Dick — oh ! as for Major Dick, look at him ; {points off'K.) 
something has happened to upset him. It's a nice picnic. 
I believe it's all due to the spilling of that salt. 

Maysie. (l., slightly advancing to C, almost to her- 
self) Why did he start when he saw that gipsy girl ? 
They know each other, I'm sure of that. 

Irene, {inischievously) Perhaps she's an old flame 
of his. What do you think. Tommy dear ? 

Tom. {overhearing and coming R. C.) What do you 
mean, Irene ? 

Irene. Oh, ho, Master Tom. Is she a protege of 
yours ? 

Tom. Don't be a fool. 

Irene. Kings have fallen in love with gipsies, {sits 
R.) Why not middle-aged majors and schoolboys ? 

Tom. She's not that sort. 

Irene. Really ? 

Tom. {loftily) Oh, of course conventional girls like 
you who ride bicycles and flirt, are bound to sneer at — 
at — a — er 

Irene. A gipsy girl. 

Tom. Suppose she is. Is it a crime ? 

Irene. Do you know her ? 

Tom. No, I don't, but — but — I know a fellow can't see 
a girl run down, you know, unless he knows 

Irene. Too much nose, don't you think. Tommy 
dear ? {interrupting) 

Tom. Didn't look at her. 



ONE SUMMER'S DAY. 29 

Maysie. Dick looked at her — I — what does it mean ? 
{strolls off I.. YYiYL goes and leans over branch C.) 

Irene. Of course, if you didn't look at her, you 
wouldn t have noticed a curious chain she was wearing ? 

Tom. Er — oh — was she ? 

Irene. When you were in my room this morning, you 
might have noticed one exactly like it on my dressing 
table. 

Tom. Oh ! 

Irene. Funny, isn't it ? 

Tom. Don't see it. 

Irene. It'll be funnier still, if I can't find mine when I 
get home, won't it .-* 

Tom. Very, — that is, — Oh, I say, this is dull enough. 
I shall go down to the lock, {stalks offR.) 

Irene, {rises) There's something going on. I'm sure 
of it. Has he — ? and has she — ? I must find out. 
{exitL. Maysie has gone offi.. Irene looks from Maysie 
to Phil who is up at back looking into river, gloomily. 
She goes after Maysie, rti" DiCK re-enters hurriedly R. 
from the other side) 

Dick. Phil ! 

Phil, {up c. gloomily, without turning) Hullo ! 

Dick. Come here, I can't shout. 

Phil, {comes down l. c.) Well ? 

Dick, {looking around at Bendyshe) Is he asleep 1 

Phil. Been snoring damnably, 

Dick, {quickly) It's the woman. 

Phil. The mother ? 

Dick. Yes, What the devil am I to do ? 

Phil. Hold your tongue. 

Dick. She'll find out. 

Phil. She thinks the kid's dead. 

Dick. Yes, yes, but if she finds out that I've got him, 
she — by Gad, she shan't. She'll never have him, Phil, 
give me your solemn word of honor that nobody shall 
know through you that — that he isn't mine. 

Phil. My dear boy, frightened at a shadow again. 
Did you speak to her ? 

Dick. No. Haven't seen her ; couldn't catch a 
glimpse of her anywhere. 

Phil. I should keep out of her way if I were you. 

Dick. What's the use ? She was waiting for me. 
She's been following me. There wasn't a bit of surprise 



so ONE SUMMER'S DAY. 

on her face when we met. No ! the struggle's going to 
begin. I wonder has she found out anything. If she has 
I know what I'll do. 

Phil. What ? 

Dick. Never mind now, but I expect it'll take the 
wind out of her sails. What a good thing I made up my 
mind to go away. 

Phil, {looking at him meaningly) Perhaps you'll 
change your mind. 

Dick. Not I. 

Phil, {pointedly) Could nothing happen to induce 
you to stay ? 

Dick. What do you mean ? 

Phil. Couldn't Miss Linden induce you to stay ? 

Dick. Phil ! 

Phil, {slowly) It's all over with me. I was a fool 
all along. 

Dick. You don't mean to say 

Phil. Yes, I do. 

Dick, (tenderly) My poor old chap ! 

Phil. Oh, it's all right. It's a bit of a knock just at 
first, but — it'll all dry straight, I suppose, {turns away) 

Dick. {to himself) Poor old Phil ! {suddenly) 
Don't give up, old chap. Faint heart, you know. She's 
young — doesn't know her own mind. Try again. She 
daren't refuse a good chap like you. She — she — don't 
listen to her — tell her she's a silly little girl. Hang it, 
whenever she's done anything I objected to, I've never 
stood it. She wants holding — she's wilful. Don't you 
stand it, old boy. 

Phil. Dick, you don't understand women. 

Dick. Don't I ? You leave her to me. 

Phil. It's what I'm going to do, Dick. 

Dick. That's right. I'll talk to her like a Dutch uncle. 
{down R. c.) 

Phil, {fiercely) Dick, are you as blind as an owl ? 

Dick. Eh ? 

Phil. Oh ! I see it nov/ — see it in a hundred different 
things that I never noticed before. It's you — you — you ! 
She thinks of you all the time. I'm nothing, nothing at 
all. But I can't help loving her all the same, {crosses^.) 

Dick. You're wrong, Phil. She — she's very fond of 
me, I hope — but — but I'm old enough to be her father. 
I've always been almost a father to her. 



ONE SUMMER'S DAY. 31 

Phil, [fiercely) You know you love her. Own it, 
own it. I'm not an infernal fool. Own up you love 
her. 

Dick. I do love her. If I were twenty-eight I should 
insist on her marrying me. As I am thirty-eight, I shall 
insist on her marrying an obstinate and rather l)ad- 
tempered young soldier who isn't worth the dust on her 
tiny shoes. 

Phil. That's true, {goes to battk up r. c.) 

Dick. Where's she gone ? 

Phil. Over there. She hasn't looked at me for more 
than an hour — not since you went for the salt. 

Dick. Poor boy, it's awful rough on you. {crosses 
L. C.) But never mind, I'll give her a serious talking to, 
you see ! It'll be all right. I'll attack her now — strike 
while the iron's iiot. 

Phil. What's the use ? {coining dowii) She told 
me 

Dick, {interrupting) What right have you to pay 
any attention to what she told you ? What did she say .? 

Phil. Well, I don't exactly know what she said, but I 
gathered 

Dick. You don't know what she said, but you gath- 
ered {scor-fifully) Fiddlesticks ! You leave it to 

me. I'll see it's all right. 

Phil. Do you really think 

Dick. I — never ! Only fools think. I do. 

Phil. You are a good chap — you're always helping 
me. 

Dick. Don't be an ass, but do something for me in 
return. 

Phil. What ? 

Dick. Go down to the lock and try to find out some- 
thing — all you can about — about that woman. Do it 
carefully, so that none can suspect. Find out hov/ long 
she's been here — where she's going — you know. All you 
can, will you ? 

Phil, {listlessly) Yes, old chap. 

Dick. And, for the love of heaven, buck up ! You'd 
put any girl off with an expression like that. 

Phil, {laughing) All right. 

Dick. That's better ; and if your left ear burns, don't 
worry, it's only me. 

Phil. Right. You are a good chap. 



32 ONE SUMMER'S DAY. 

Dick, {as Phil goes) Don't let anybody suspect, you 
know, (^ji:// Phil R.) Poor old chap! Lord, what fools 
young women are ! It's quite time one of them was 
brought to her senses, {goes off after Maysie, L. 2 E. 
There is a complete pause. The stage deserted save 
for the three slumbering figures, MRS. Bendyshe and 
HODDESDEN, just visible in the punt, through the 
trees, and BENDYSHE, propped up against haystack L. 
A bird is singings also an occasional snore from 
Bendyshe) 

Enter Urchin slowly, rather depressed, R. i e. He 
contemplates 07ie by one the sleeping forms. 

Urchin. Dozin'. Full, all of 'em. Well, I'm pretty 
full myself. Five bottles of ginger beer — good, too, fizzy. 
Five bottles. It ain't made me dozy — made me feel airi- 
fied. My inside wants to fly, but carn't 'cos of the roof of 
my mouth. A penny on each bottle wasn't a bad idea, 
neither, {he conceives another brilliant idea, and cross- 
ing to Bendyshe, prods him with a bit of stick till he 
wakes up) Sleepy, 'Oppin' tub ? 

Ben. {contemplating him with horror and appre- 
hension) Oh, my gracious me ! 

Urchin, (l. c.) Sorry to disturb you, 'Oppin tub, 
but I wants to propose a proposition. 

Ben. (l.) You wicked boy. What is it .? 

Urchin. Wot would you think of givin' me a shil- 
ling .? 

Ben. I should decline to think of it. 

Urchin. Ah ! {pause) That is your missis with 
the geraniums in 'er 'at ? 

Ben. You awful boy ! 

Urchin. I must imerjuce myself to her. 

Ben. To think that I am in the hands of such an 
urchin ! {with inany manifestations of despair, gives 
hi7n a shilli7ig) 

Urchin. 'Oppin' tub, I ain't disappointed in yer. 'Ere. 
{beckons to him mysteriously) Ycj 'as a rival, the kid 
with the stror 'at. 

Ben. Tommy Reid ? 

Urchin. {disdainfully) Yus, Tommy Reid. 'E 
gives 'er jewels, I'm on 'im. 'E's comin' — go to sleep, 
'Oppin tub. Watch me settle 'im. 



ONE SUMMER'S DAY. 33 

Ben. (^feebly sits down against haystack, murmur- 
ing) Why do I yield to this .? {pretends to sleep. 
Urchin plumes himself for struggle) 

Enter Tom, r. 2 e. 

Tom. {cheerfully) Hullo, small boy. 

Urchin, (c, wincing) Small boy ! One to 'im. I 
was 'aviii' a little talk about you just now. 

Tom. (r. C, surprised) Eh t 

Urchin. The gent with the whiskers on the edge of 
his face are your uncle, ain't he ? 

Tom. Yes, but what the dickens 

Urchin, {interrupting) Was 1 a-doin' up in that 
tree— when you were deludin' the pore girl with jewels ? I 
was fishin' ! 

Tom. You — in that tree ! You've told my uncle, you 
little 

Urchin, {backitig off) No — but 'e is your uncle ? 
It's 'ard on him bein' kept in the dark. 

Tom. I'll break your neck if you say a word. 

Ben. {aside) Oh, what a relief that would be. 

Urchin. I s'pose 'e'd break yours it 'e knew ? 

Tom. He doesn't know. 

Urchin. S'pose somebody told 'im ? 

Tom. {furious) You little 

Urchin. Don't call me that name, it makes my blood 
bile. 'Ere, fireworks, I 'ave a proposition to propose. 

Tom. Eh ? 

Urchin. Fust, for yours truly, mum's the word. But, 
stror rat, wot would you say to givin' me a shilling ? 
{f)ause) 

Tom. I don't mind, but look here, you take jolly good 
care to hold your tongue. 

Urchin. You're a gent, stror rat. {pockets shilling, 
then becomes magnanitnous) 'Ere. {jnysteriously) 
You 'as a rival. 

Tom. What ? 

Urchin. {jerkijig his thtimb spasmodically at 
Bendyshe) 'Oppin' tub give 'er a fiver to buy a shawl. 

Tom. You young liar ! 

Urchin, Stror rat, this is honest injun, 'e calls 'er 
Cleopatra, and swears he'll paint her face and make her 
immoral forever. 

3 



34 ONE SUMMER'S DAY. 

Ben. {Jumping up, furious) Immortal, you dreadful 
boy, immortal ! 

Urchin. 'Oppin' tub, I thought you was asleep. 

Ben. How could 1 sleep under such an imputation ? 
Besides, you know, I never was asleep. I was shamming 
— at your suggestion I shammed. At your suggestion I 
swore at lunch that I had allowed five bottles of ginger 
beer to fall into the river, making myself appear little less 
than a fool, that you might glut yourself with the noxious 
fluid — but I've had enough, sir. Leave this peaceful spot, 
or I shall undoubtedly endeavor to box your ears. 

Urchin. {calmly) This is gratitude. 'Oppin* tub, 
don't excite yourself. Remember you 'as an appointment 
with Cleopatra at 4.30. {goes back, then R. Exit punt) 

Ben. He knows — everything — everything ! What is 
he? 

Tom. {crosses c, loftily) Mr. Bendyshe, I should 
like a word with you. 

Ben. (l. c.) Not now. Tommy, I am not quite my- 
self. 

Tom. {angrily) I wish it now, and you'll oblige me 
by not calling me Tommy. 

Urchin, {up r.) 'Ear, 'ear ! {business with river) 

Tom. {fiercely) Shut up ! 

Ben. Oh, here's another dreadful boy. 

Tom. I'm not a boy. I may have been last week, but 
I'm changed now. Don't go, Bendyshe, I want an ex- 
planation. 

Urchin. Stick to 'im, stror 'at. 

Tom. Shut up ! An explanation, Bendyshe. 

Ben. Gracious ! What about ? 

Urchin, {scornfully) As if you didn't know. 

Tom. Shut up ! Did you give five pounds to — to — 
Miss — Miss — I don't know her name, but you know who 
I mean. 

Ben. I certainly did — to buy a shawl. 

Urchin. To buy a shawl ! 'Ark at 'Oppin' tub ! 

Tom. How dare you, Bendyshe ? 

Ben. {furious) How dare .'' What the devil has it 
got to do with you ? 

Tom. a great deal. I must ask you to take it back. 
I cannot allow her to accept presents from any one but 
me. Take it back, sir ! Take it back ! 

Urchin. If yer car? get it ! 



ONE SUMMER'S DAY. 35 

Ben. 1 shall do no such thing. 

Tom. I must insist ! I don't happen to have any money 
now, but — I — I shall consider I owe it to you, and let me 
tell you, Miss — Miss — er — you know ! Well, she would 
not have taken it, but for some pecuniary trouble that 
has come unexpectedly upon her father. {{jRCum gives 
an ironical yell of delight, TOM rushes fiercely at him, 
but he darts away into the bushes and disappears 
up R.) 

Ben. {jnoving c.) You take an interest in the lady ? 

Tom. (r. C.) She has consented to be my wife. 

Ben. Do you join the caravan or does she return with 
you to school ? 

Tom. Your remarks are on a par with the rest of your 
conduct. From men such as you, no woman is safe. 
{laughing hardly') Fair game, I suppose you consider 
them, and all the time they little know that you have a 
wife asleep in the punt, {tip C.) 

Ben. {desperate) If he was very small I think I could 
smack him. 

Tom. ( doTVJi c.) This time, let me tell you, the lady 
is not entirely unprotected. 

Ben. Perhaps you will listen to me. I am an artist. 
I meet a beautiful girl, an ideal Cleopatra. In my grati- 
tude to her for being so beautiful, and also having a 
ragged shawl I gave her a fiver and she gave me the 
promise of three sittings, one of which will take place 
this afternoon. 

Tom. I forbid it, and don't insult me by mentioning 
the fiver. 

Ben. {wildly) My fiver ! I will dwell upon it, if I 
like, positively dwell upon it ! She took my fiver, and she 
did not suggest by her manner of welling it that she in- 
tended to present it to an embarrassed father, 

Tom. {crosses C, approaching threateningly) Do 
you insinuate 

Ben. {backing off timidly) Nothing ! nothing ! Marry 
the lady at once, fiver and all, by all means. 

Tom. Do you think your paltry fiver tempts me ! I 
love her for herself alone, and 1 shall make a point of not 
marrying her till you've been paid back every farthing. 

Ben. As you please. You will oblige me by not men- 
tioning my name in connection with this affair. My 
wife 



36 ONE SUMMER'S DAY. 

Tom. {crosses r. taU/i ivithering contempt) Your 
wife would not believe your story, I suppose ? 

Ben. {crosses L.) I decline to discuss my matrimo- 
nial infelicities with a freckled schoolboy, {the punt re- 
appears at back with Mrs. Bendyshe and HODDESDEN) 

Tom. Ah ! That's what will be thrown in my teeth, 
I know. 

Ben. Your freckles ? 

Tom. No, my youth. Uncle's sure to drop on that. 
I must tell him all, I l;no\v — but what's the good ? How 
can one's uncle respect one's feelings when he pays for 
one's education .? How can he who has caned me as a 
little boy realize that that little boy could ever grow up ? 
But I have grown up, and I'm not going to have the girl 
I love best in the world torn from me by uncles or artists 
either. 

HODD. (l. C.from the punt) Quite right, quite right ! 
Bendyshe, by what right do you seek to tear from my 
nephew the girl he loves ? 

Mrs. B. (c.) Theodore ! Don't tell me you're flirt- 
ing again ? 

Ben. (i.. of haystack) Oh, my gracious ! These are 
dreadful boys. 

Tom. {moves up R. c. most impressively) Uncle, I 
meant to tell you to-night, but since you've overheard, I 
may as well tell you now. I have met the lady I hope to 
make my wife. It's pretty nearly settled, though I sup- 
pose we want your consent. 

HoDD. Surely not ! {calmly) Is she in every way 
desirable ? 

Tom. She's an angel. Bendyshe gave her five pounds. 
That was an insult. We will pay it back. 

HoDD. The five pounds, not the insult, Tom. 

Mrs. B. Five pounds, Theodore ? 

Ben. For sittings, darling, and to buy a shawl. Cleo- 
patra ! 

HoDD. Where does the lady live ? 

Tom. {romantically) Men have made her a wan- 
derer on the face of the earth ; the sky is her roof, the wild 
flowers her pillow 

HoDD. I know the type — very fascinating — might 
have been much worse ; come home — we'll talk it over. 

Tom. Nothing will move me. {going to punt) 

HODD. No. no ! 



ONE SUMMER'S DAY. 37 

Tom. Sneer at me, and call me boy. I don't care ! 
{stoops down for pole) 

HODD. No, no ! Take the lighter pole, i^ovidoesso 
almost in tears ; gets into punt L. of Mrs. Bendyshe) 

Mrs. B. Theodore, will you come too ? 

Ben. With alacrity, dearest ! {goes up) 

Tom. {to Mrs. Bendyshe) You have no cause for 
anger, Mrs. Bendyshe, your husband has been 3. fool, he 
has not been a criminal ! 

Ben. Oh, what a position ! 

Mrs. B. Tommy, in another moment, I shall box 
your ears. 

Ben. Oh, thank you, dear one, 

Mrs. B. And yours too, Theodore. 

Ben. Oh, thank you, dearest, I think I'll walk, {exit 
Bendyshe) 

Enter Irene, Maysie and Dick, l. 2 e. 

Irene, {crossing over to r. haystack) Good gra- 
cious ! are you going ? 

HoDD. We are going. Tom wishes to talk to me re 
his approaching marriage. 

All Three. What ! 

Tom. I don't care ! A man's life is his own. You 
can't chaff me out of it. I'm in love ajid I don't care a 
damn for anybody. 

Irene. Tom ! 

Tom. Yes, I swore ! I never swore as hard as that 
before ladies before, but you drive me to it. I love her — 
she loves me. Whose fault is it if she's a gipsy ? 

Irene. j 

Dick. \-{come down l.) The gipsy ! 

Maysie. ( 

Tom. Yes, the most beautiful woman in the world ! 

Irene, {crosses c. to Tom) I knew it was my chain, 
you little thief! 

Tom. She'll give it back. (Irene gets r. c.) 

Mrs. B. The chain and the fiver. She must be a 
good girl ! 

HODD. Shove off, sir, you're wasting time, {the punt 
begins to disappear) 

Tom. You can't move me ! You can't move me ! 

HoDD. Damn it, sir, — move the punt, {exeunt) 



38 ONE SUMMER'S DAY. 

Irene, {comes down r. c.) Well, I think that's the 
comickest thing I've ever heard of — Tom in love with a 
gipsy. (M AYSIE watiders gradually tcp to river and then 

Dick, {crosses C.) Thank Heaven he's not three years 
older, {suddenly) Look here, Miss Reid, I've been 
following you and Maysie about for at least a quarter of 
an hour — but I can't get you apart. 

Irene. I don't understand. 

Dick. No ? Well, would you mind going over there 
and looking for some salt ? (Irene looks at hiin blankly, 
he beseeches her to leave them alone) You silly young 
woman, don't you see I want to talk to her like a Dutch 
uncle ? 

Irene. Oh ! I beg your pardon. I'll look for salt by 
all means. (Maysie has strolled off R. Irene disap- 
pears L. 2 e. Dick sta7ids for a moinent in doubt) 

Dick, (c.) This is a difficult job. How shall I be- 
gin ? Think I'll begin with a pipe, {fills his pipe, then 
calls) Maysie! {she co7nes back; has picked a small 
hunch of wild fiowers) Ah ! there you are. I suppose 
you don't know that I've been wanting a private talk with 
you for the last quarter of an hour ? 

Maysie. {coming r. c.) A private talk ? 

Dick, And you glued yourself to that Miss Reid — 
nice girl — now, thanks to my diplomacy, looking for salt. 

Maysie. You have sent her off, then ? 

Dick. I was forced to drop a hint.' 

Maysie. Suppose I don't want a private chat with 
you ? Suppose that was the reason I glued myself to 
her, as you call it ? 

Dick. You couldn't have known I wanted a private 
chat. 

Maysie. Couldn't I ? Why, I can read you like a 
book. 

Dick. You're too clever by half, young woman. 
Oblige me by sitting down while I talk to you. 

Maysie. I don't care about sitting dov/n, thank you. 
You begin as if you meant to be very dull, {strolls off to 
back, swinging her hat by the ribbons) 

Dick. (l. c, looking after her) She's a most tiresome 
young woman, {then sternly) Come here, {she doesn't 
move) Come here ! {again she does ft' t move) This is 
fiat insubordination ! Cshe leans on willow and looks 



ONE SUMMER'S DAY. 39 

into stream) Are you aware that you're not paying the 
slightest attention to me? {she remains silent j he 
changes his peremptory tone and pleads) Oh, Maysie 
dear, do come and listen to what I do so want to say. 
{she comes dowjt to him at 07ice. They laugh, she holds 
out both hands, he takes them and holds them tenderly) 

Dick. You're a horrid little tyrant, aren't you ? 

Maysie. There, that's your haystack, (L.) this is mine. 
(R. both sit) Now let's get quite comfortable and you 
can say all you want to say. 

Dick. That's right, (pause) 

Maysie. (r.) Well ? 

Dick. Well, in the first place I want you to think I 
am doing my best. I want you to believe that you and 
my kiddie are — well — you give me the best thoughts I 
have. I want to know that you trust me absolutely, in 
fact, that you look upon me as a father. Do you ? 

Maysie. {after a pause, laughs a little) Of course 
I do. {leans her chin on her hands and looks at hitn) 

Dick. You've been a most obedient child for the last 
five years. Don't go and break the record now. 

Maysie. What's all this leading up to ? 

Dick. Well, to — what the dickens do you mean by 
breaking poor Phil's heart and making him think seri- 
ously of going to the devil ? 

Maysie. {rising) Dick ! 

Dick. Oh, it's all very well to strut about and look 
dignified, but it's what you're doing. He's the best chap 
in the world, and he loves you. He'd lie down and let 
you jump on him ! That always seems to be a clinching 
proof of a man's love for a woman, though I've never 
heard of it's being put into practice. Maysie dear, give 
him a chance. I'm sure you love him fearfully, but like 
all women, you fool about with your feelings just for the 
fun of being miserable. 

Maysie {tossing her head) I don't fool about with 
my feelings — and I know whether I want to marry Mr. 
Marsden or not, thank you, Major Dick. 

Dick. Oh, it's no use putting on frills with me. I 
told Phil you'd marry him, and I'm not going to disap- 
point the boy. Of course, if you were a regular grown-up 
woman you might know your own mind, but as I've 
watched you grow since you were so high, I shouldn't be 
surprised if, so far, you haven't a mind to know. Think 



40 ONE SUMMER'S DAY. 

it over, Maysie. I'm sure you'll discover when you look 
into yourself that you love him fearfully all the time. 
Girls can't tell right off, I'm sure. 

Maysie. You know a lot about girls, Major Dick. 

Dick. I'm not a chicken, Miss Maysie, and I've de- 
voted a good deal of my time to studying girls. 

Maysie. Gipsy girls ? {pause, she sees the change 
hi his face and is sorry she has said so much) 

Dick, {in a whisper) What do you mean ? 

Maysie. I don't mean anything — why should I '^. 

Dick. Why should you ? Exactly. Look here, I'll 
smoke half a pipe while you walk up and down and look 
into yourself. 

Maysie. I've looked into myself, thank you. 

Dick. Well, what do you say ? 

Maysie. I — I'll think it over. 

Dick, {starting up in delight, goes to her) That 
means — you'll marry him ! Good girl ! I'm jolly glad ! 

Maysie. {turning to him, her face close to his, her 
eyes on his eyes) You are glad — you mean it — you mean 
it? 

Dick, {after a pause, awkwardly) Of course I mean 
it. What an odd girl you are ! {she swings on her heel 
and goes up R. c. to river, breaking a twig from the 
tree, throwing it into the water and watching it drift 
away, then suddenly) 

Maysie. Dick, what was your first wife like ? 

Dick, {embarrassed) Eh ? Oh ! I don't know — 
quite ordinary, I suppose, {she turns andlook at him in 
wonder, continuitig nervously) Er — and I don't like the 
expression _;frj/ wife. It seems to insinuate that I shall 
have a second. 

Maysie. Will she be ordinary too ? 

Dick. Not if I know it ■ No more wives for me. 

Maysie. {quietly) I think you'll marry again. 

Dick. Not I ! 

Maysie. Why not, pray ? 

Dick, {slowly) I'm too old — too ugly — too poor — too 
selfish — too lazy ! 

Maysie. {interrupting) Yes, that's true. That's what 
prevents you making yourself and — other people — happy. 

Dick. Good gracious ! 

Maysie. It's true ! You don't know it, but you're 
too lazy to look into yourself, {comes to him sweetly and 



ONE SUMMER'S DAY. 41 

takes his arm) Dick, I'll hold your pipe. Walk up and 
down and do it now. 

Dick, {taken aback) Don't be ridiculous ! I know 
perfectly well what's in me. 

Maysie. Do you ? Then why don't you let it out ? 

Dick. Because I don't choose to. {suddetily , fiercely) 
Look here, don't you dictate to me ! 

Maysie. You're content to shut yourself within your- 
self for ever and ever ? 

Dick. Yes. 

Maysie. {passionately) Then I'm sorry, oh, so sorry 
to hear it. 

Dick. Why ? 

Maysie. Because if you're content like that, then — 
then you haven't a heart. You don't know what love is — 
or you could?it — you could?i't ! 

Dick, {pause) My dear little girl, sometimes it's 
one's duty to shut oneself up. I don't say it isn't hard, 
I've found it very hard. I've been nearly giving in and 
making a fool of myself more than once ; but I've man- 
aged to pull through. 

Maysie. Tell me, Dick. 

Dick. Yes, I don't see why I shouldn't, {takes her to 
R. haystack. She sits) There was a little girl that I 
was very fond of, a little girl whose eyes looked into 
mine, and looked my heart right away. A little girl 
whose happy laughter was like the sunshine, and I 
couldn't help loving her after all. But I looked into my- 
self. I said, " You're old, Dick Rudyard ; she's young. 
You've got ideas, Dick Rudyard ; she hasn't. And then 
you've got responsibilities and a kiddie with a huge appe- 
tite and an enormous capacity for wearing out his 
clothes. You can't be cad enough to saddle her with all 
these loads." 

Maysie. She'd do her best. 

Dick. I dare say she would, but there's a great gap 
between the little Shetland pony and the old war-horse. 
Besides I said to myself, " You're bad-tempered, Dick 
Rudyard. You don't like to be questioned, you don't 
like to be contradicted. You'd be both." 

Maysie. No, no ! 

Dick. You don't know this little girl as well as I do. 
She's fearfully inquisitive, — pokes her little nose into 
everything, and stamps her little foot ifshe's ever snubbed. 



42 ONE SUMMER'S DAY. 

She's got a temper too, oh, yes, but I don't think it's as 
bad as his. 

Maysie. You make her perfectly horrid. I'm sure 
she wouldn't question you if you said it was best not. 

Dick. Are you ? 

Maysie. Quite. 

Dick. I wouldn't trust her. 

Maysie. Then it's a good thing you didn't marry her. 

Dick. Very ! That's what I think. 

Maysie. Did you distrust your first wife like this ? 

Dick. Question number one. 

Maysie. '^ No, it isn't. That's absurd. 

Dick. Flat contradiction number two. 

Maysie. {g^ttitig angry) And you never talk of your 
first wife at all. 

Dick. That's strange. 

Maysie. Of course it is. Lots of people remark 
on it. 

Dick. Do they ? 

Maysie. Some say [she stops suddenly) 

Dick. What ? 

Maysie. That you were never married. 

Dick. They may be right, 

Maysie. Some say — she's still living. 

Dick. They may be right, {moves C.) 

Maysie. (rises) Oh, Dick, Dick, you are unkind ! 

Dick. Yes, of course I am. I said I was. Now you 
see how wise I was to say nothing to that little girl. 

Maysie. It isn't fair to make a mystery of yourself. 
Oh, Dick, do trust me a little bit ! [crosses L.) 

Dick. My dear little girl, you know all that it's wise 
for you to know. Oh, don't look so fierce ! I'm not 
Master Phil, I don't tremble and bow down before your 
juvenile tantrums. There, I won't be exasperating. 
You're a fairly good girl, and you've made two people 
very happy to-day. 

Maysie. Two ? 

Dick. Me and Phil. 

Maysie. Phil ! By telling him I don't love him ? 

Dick. No, but by telling him what you are going to 
tell him — that you will marry him. 

Maysie. 1 never said any such thing. 

Dick. No, but you said you'd think it over. It's 
almost the same. At any rate it's near enough for Phil. 



ONE SUMMER'S DAY. 43 

Maysie. Oh, is it ? I'm not so sure ! {suddenly) 
Look, look, the gipsy again. 

Dick, {turns quickly and stares off, then to Maysie 
without turning to her) Go away, dear, go away ! 

Maysie. {jealously) You're going to speak to her ! 
What for ? 

Dick. Question number three. Runaway! 

Maysie. You've met her before ? 

Dick. Question — still question ! Away with you, 
child, this is important. 

Maysie. You're hateful — perfectly hateful ! and I shan't 
say what I meant to say. {moves off in a temper l.. 2 E.) 

Dick, {still staring in the same directiott) She's 
coming to speak to me. Now to play my last card. She 
shan't have him, Jack, old boy — she shan't have him, I 
give you my word. (Chiara is seen throjtgh the bushes 
up R. Seth Joifts her hurriedly for an instant and 
whispers) 

Seth. Mind ye, he's got to pay us a 'undred a year 
reg'lar for that kid. 

Chiara. I'll work him. 

Seth. Not a quid less. Stick to it. He'll pay up 
every penny ; I'll wait down here, {points^ thett creeps off 
R. I E.) 

Chiara lounges on graceftilly, her basket over her arm, 
then she and DiCK stand lookiiig at 07ie another till 
she leans back smiling against the tritnk of the 
willow. 

Chiara, It's a small world. Captain Rudyard. 

Dick. You've not forgotten me. 

Chiara. {smiling) Not much ! Wasn't it good of 
me not to speak to you before all your fine friends ? 

Dick, {drily) You weren't always so considerate. 

Chiara. Ah, I'm changed now. Don't I look a re- 
formed character ? You look a bit changed too — older 
than you used to be — aren't you ? Isn't it odd that we 
should run up against each other like this 1 

Dick. Very odd. 

Chiara. I've had a lot of trouble since we met, but of 
course you know. 

Dick, {stolidly) Ah ! {begintiing to fill his pipe, 
sits L. haystack) 

Chiara. Yes — awful trouble. Lost my husband— 



44, ONE SUMMER'S DAY. 

lost my child {goes quickly to hhn, watching him in- 
tently) It was the loss of my child changed me. {pause) 
Ye don't say anything — don't ye believe me ? 

Dick, {coldly) No. 

Chiara. i^mijnicking his tone) No!- Bah! just as 
grumpy as you were years ago. Ain't you been in a 
good temper since. 

Dick. What do you want ? 

Chiara. I want to have a chat about old times — 
you was a pal of my husband's. 

Dick. I was. 

Chiara. Well, isn't that a kind of bond between us — 
Lord ! how I loved that man ! 

Dick. Did you ? You had acurious way of proving it. 

Chiara. {angrily) He shouldn't have tried to make 
me respectable — he was a fool. 

Dick, {quietly) Yes, in that instance 1 think he was. 

Chiara. Ah ! well, he's gone. I'm a poor lonely 
woman now, Captain. All the devil knocked out of me 
— at least nearly all, {comes to him, griniiing up into 
his face) I ain't even so pretty as I was, am I 1 

Dick. You're much the same. 

Chiara. I ain't your style, though, am I .? 

Dick, {calmly) No. 

Chiara. {smiling wickedly) I hate you, Dick Rud- 
yard. I always did. 

Dick. I dare say ! But you didn't surely come here 
to tell me that ? 

Chiara. No. I came to ask you how it was my child 
came to die so quick. 

Dick, {after a pause) I don't know, {looks at her 
suspiciously, but she is apparently unconcerned) 

Chiara. {sjniliftg at him) Want of a mother's care, 
do you think ? 

Dick. I dare say. 

Chiara. {pensively) Ah, that does make a differ- 
ence, {with a toss of her head) I shouldn't ha' brought 
him up to be a gentleman — gentlemen are mostly fools. 
He should ha' been like me — free — no law but his own 
blessed will. He'd ha' finished in jail, I dare say, but 
think of the good time he'd have had before he got there. 
{suddenly) 1 suppose you think it's a good thing I didn't 
have the charge of him ? 

Dick. It's no affair of mine. 



ONE SUMMER'S DAY. 45. 

Chiara. Oh, isn't it ? Of course it isn't, i^oes towards 
him, with a smile) Have you been to Windsor College 
lately, Captain ? 

Dick. {completely dumfoiinded, stammers) What 

do you mean ? ,. . ,, ^ 

Chiara. You know what I mean, ye liar ! [bursts 
into a loud laugh) For the last ten minutes I've been 
having a high'old time of it ! It's prime to see that 
croody-goody gentlemen can lie nearly as well as us. 
This is^vhat I've followed you for, my gent— this is what 
it's all about. I want my child, and I'm going to have 
him. Out of that school he comes, and avvay north with 
me he goes— with me. his mother— this very week. What 
do you think of that, my pretty gentleman ? ^ 

Dick, {very quietly) I think it's a pity you didn t 
say so before, and save my tim.e and your own. 

Chiara. How dare you keep a child from its mother ? 
Dick I really don't know— but it's a situation that 
can easily be altered. The long-lost offspring shall be at 
once restored. 

Chiara. What do you mean ? 

Dick. I'm busy this afternoon, but I'll go down to 
Windsor to-morrow, bring the boy back, hand him over 
to you, and my responsibility is at an end. 

Chiara. {stares at him in blank astonishment, then 
falters) You— you'll give him up ? , . .^ 

Dick. Well, I don't see how I can keep him it you 
want him. 

Chiara. Don't you want him ? 

Dick. Of course I should like to keep him, but we all 
like a great many things we can't have. You'll find him a 
jolly little chap. But, by Jove ! if I'd known children were 
such expensive luxuries. I'd have seen your husband further 
before I saddled myself with the boy. Do you know the 
school fees alone are something over a hundred a year ? 

Chiara. {ahnost dazed) You can part with him like 
that— the little boy who loves you like a father— your dead 
pal's child— you have the heart to desert him ? 

Dick Desert him ? What are you talking about ? 
You ought to be jolly grateful to me for having done 
what I have done ; there isn't another chap in a hundred 
would have done as much. Of course if things were dif- 
ferent, I should have asked you to let me stick to the boy, 
but as things are, it's just as well you've turned up. 



46 ONE SUMMER'S DAY. 

Chiara. What do you mean by — different ? 

Dick. Well, the fact is, I'm devilish hard up. Apart 
from that I'm off to India in a couple of months, and until 
you suggested taking the boy I was at my wits' ends to 
know what to do with him. (goes to her seriously) I'm 
sure you'll be kind to him — in spite of what you said. 
He's such a jolly little chap. 

Chiara. {breathing hard, cle^iching and uncle7iching 
her hands, bursts out fiercely) And you call yourself a 
gentleman ? 

Dick. Do I ? I don't know. I'm a very ordinary sort 
of chap. 

CillARA. {burstitig into a fury, while DlCK smilingly 
watches her) Do you know what I call you ? A black- 
hearted brute. You rob a poor woman of her child, you 
teach the poor babe to love you, you lead us all to think 
you love it, and then — then you turn it out of doors — to 
starve — to starve — because that's what it comes to, and 
you know it ! 

Dick. But hang it all, woman — I — you shouted at me 
just now for keeping it — the child was yours — you would 
liave it — out of the school it should come — those were 
your very words. 

Chiara. {whiningly) Yes, but I didn't mean it. I 
don't want to stand in the boy's light if you want to make 
a gentleman of him, 

Dick. Perhaps sonie day I may have children of my 
own, and I shall probably have quite enough to do to 
make gentlemen of them. 

Chiara. {begin7iing to lose her head at the ujicxpected 
tur7i of events) But — but the boy is too young to rough 
it with us. 

Dick, {laughingly) I don't think roughing it does 
boys any harm. Besides it's a free, healthy, open-air 
sort of life — probably do him a lot of good ; you don't 
mind his writing to me now and then, I suppose 1 

Chiara. {suddenly) Here ! Wait ! wait ! I'll fetch 
my husband, 

Dick, {jumpijig up with a shout) What ! you're 
married again ! Then that settles it ! I'm hanged if I 
pay another farthing ; it's his business, not mine. 

Chiara. {fiercely) What'U you give me if I let you 
keep this boy forever ? 

Dick, {laughing) Upon my word! I like your chee!:. 



ONE SUMMER'S DAY. 47 

Chiara. {desperate, backing towards trees "S..) Keep 
it for a little — you must — you must — cos we're going away 
to-night. (Maysie eiiters and listefis at back L.) 

Dick. To-night ! Then when shall I hear from you ? 

Chiara. Soon — very soon. 

Dick. You've got my address ? 

Chiara. Yes, 

Dick. We must settle it this week, mind you. I think 
it's a pity we can't arrange to keep the kid at school. 
He'd have been a credit to us, I'm sure. 

Chiara. Let him bide for a bit — a week — a week. 

Dick. My good woman, I'm so jolly hard up ! 

Chiara. [w hiningly) So am I ! Oh, yes, I'm poor 
— so poor — give me what you can. {whistle heard off) 
Hush ! my husband I I must go ! Give me something — 
for the sake of old times. 

Dick, {takes out handful of ?no?iey) Help yourself ! 
{she grabs it eagerly) Here, hold on — leave me some- 
thing to go on with. 

Chiara. There's not three quid — I'll swear ! {turns 
to go) 

Dick. Not left so much as a copper for the ferry. 
(Chiara almost tiunbles over Seth, who creeps on behind 
bushes. They are hidden from DiCK, but he hears them) 

Seth. {i7i an eager whisper) A hundred ? 

Chiara. {fiercely^ between her teeth) The game's 
up 1 He wants us to take the kid — he's sick of it. 

Seth. {horror-struck) No ! 

Chiara. Yes, fool ! 

Seth. We'd better bolt. 

Chiara. To-night ? {dashes off) 

Seth. {creepi7ig after her) He don't want to keep 
the kid— s'welp me ! there's an unnatural brute. 

Dick, {softly to hijnselfwith a great triumph, as he 
turns towards the river) Sold 'em ! Beat her at her 
own game ! It was the only way — he's mine now — my 
kiddie forever ! 

Maysie enters slowly from the willows L. ; he turns 
hearing her ; she drops her eyes, then says chok- 
ingly) 

Maysie. I listened ! 

Dick, {turning to her) You listened ? 



48 ONE SUMMER'S DAY. 

Maysie, I've heard too much and too httle — tell me 
all. 

Dick. It's no affair of yours, Miss Maysie, and I'm 
sorry you played the spy. 

Maysie. I had to. You spoke of a boy — did you 
mean your boy ? 

Dick, {slowly) Yes. 

Maysie. What is he to her ? 

Dick. Don't question me. 

Maysie. I must ! 

Dick, {lifting his hand firinly) This is what I 
warned you of. The gap between the child that ques- 
tions and the man that will not answer. 

Maysie. You should answer. This is different, {he 
makes a movement to check her. Stamping her foot) 
I must question — I must know ! 

Dick. You shall know. She is — his mother (pause) 

Maysie. {looks at him itt horror j to herself ) Tlien 

you and she {looking straight in frotit of her) I see 

now why you disliked being questioned. In future, when 
people sneer at you I shall know how to hold my tongue. 
I — I am going to Irene, {goes slowly L., then stops, ftot 
^turning to him) Will you tell Mr. Marsden — you were 
quite right — I did not know my own mind — I know it 
now — I will marry him if he cares to take me. {she goes 
off slowly L., her head bowed down. DiCK stands star- 
ing after her. Long pause) 

Dick, {repeatitig) When people sneer — what does 
she — why did she look at me as if 

Phil dashes on excitedly R. 

Phil. What luck, old chap ? Have you seen her ? 
What did she say ? 

Dick, {slowly, still staring after Maysie) She said, 
"Will you tell Mr. Marsden I did not know my own mind 
— I know it now — I will marry him if he cares to take me." 

Phil, {gives a great shout of delight) She said 
that .? My dear old Dick, you've been a trump ! Where 
is she ? 

Dick, {who has never moved) She's over there. 

Phil, {bursting into a peal of joyous laughter) 
She'll marry me ! Maysie's mine ! She'll marry me i 
Houp la ! {jumps over small haystack) Who'd have 



ONE SUMMER'S DAY. 49 

thought it ? She will marry me ! Good old Dick, she'll 
marry me ! {dashes off after Maysie) 

Dick. She'll marry him — they'll be awfully happy. 
I'm jolly glad. She shouldn't have listened, though. 

What did she mean by jealous ? The gipsy .? the boy • 

{pause. He thmks hard, then with a suddeji cry 
springs to his feet) By Gad ! she thinks I — she believes 
that woman — my boy — her boy — how dare she — how 
dare she ! [stops stiddenly, dropping his voice) That's 
why she looked at me like that — that's why she knew her 
own mind so soon. Poor little girl. And I shouted at 
her as if she were a regiment on parade, {lojig pause. 
He stands deep in thought) Perhaps it's a good thing I 
did. She'll marry him — and — kiddie and I will give her 
away. Perhaps she won't let us do even that now. 
They'll go away. Then kiddie and I will be all by our- 
selves — all by ourselves, {slowly his head drops on his 
hands, and a sound rather like a sob is heard) 

Urchin creeps on r., contemplates hinh ajixiously, then 
with great co7icern comes to his side. 

Urchin. Guv'nor ! guvnor ! Don't cry I 

Dick, (^looking up fiercely) Cry, you young rip ? 
I'm a philosopher. 

Urchin, {sitting down at his feet facing him) Are 
ye ? So am I. 

Dick. Are you ? Come on, then, give us your views 
of life. 

Urchin, {with great deliberation lifts his forefinger 
— sole7nnly) Gals ! [then his eloquence ceases to flow) 

Dick. Well ? 

Urchin, {gloomily) Gals — that's all. 

Dick, {slowly) Gals — that's all ? {seizes and shakes 
Urchin's dirty little hand cordially) A very good 
philosophy, too. 

Curtain comes down with the two sitting on the hay 
solemnly staring at 07ie another. 



50 ONE SUMMER'S DAY. 



ACT III. 

// is after dinner about half-past nine on >. beautiful 
summer evening. The lawn of Mr. HoDDESDtN's 
house. The old-fashioned verandah on L., shoiving 
the drawing-room. Lamps lighted and cosy beyond. 
Chinese lanterns, etc. The back cloth is a view of the 
river and a full moon rising. As curtain rises HOD- 
DESDEN is walki7ig up and down the lawn with Mrs. 
Bendyshe, while Irene, Maysie, Phil ajid Bendyshe 
are singijig plaintive nigger melodies in the drawing- 
room to harp accompaniment. Harp supposed to be 
played by Irene. 

HODD, My dear Jane, in spite of the absurdity of it 
all, I actually lost my temper with him. 

Mrs. B. Poor Tom ! 

HODD. Poor Tom indeed ! He's as obstinate as — as 
I am ! I've made inquiries about the girl ; she's the 
wife of that chap who loafs about the island. Do you 
think I can get Tom to beliei^ it .? Not he ! He laughs 
at me, says, " Ha ! I was prepared for this," then he 
rolls his eyes and calls me a calumniator — marvellous 
how love elevates one's language. Then he repeats that 
ridiculous assertion, " You can't move me." 

Mrs. B. He's quite right, you can't. 

HODD. I'd move him — if — if — I w-asn't afraid he'd 
never forgive me. 

Mrs. B. How ? {sits r.) 

HODD. He wants a thrashing — a good sound thrash- 
ing ! Something he can think about when he's by him- 
self ! Something that would take his thoughts from this 
absurdity and concentrate them on his — back. 

Mrs. B. My dear Robert, it would break your heart 
to lay a finger on the boy. 

HODD. I dare say ; but he's rapidly driving me to 
sacrifice myself. Poor young beggar ! I've locked him 
up there in the library for to-night, till those gipsies are 
gone. 

Mrs. B. Locked him up ! Oh, let me go and try my 
powers of persuasion. 

HODD. Here's the key — try away, it's hopeless, there's 



ONE SUMMER'S DAY. 51 

nothing for it but the rod, and by Gad, he shall have it, 
if he won't give way. 

Mrs. B. (rises and crosses over) Oh, it will blow 
over. 

HODD. I wish the young woman's husband would 
take the matter up. That's the sort of man to shake the 
nonsense out of Master Tom ! But there, see what you 
can do. Laugh him out of it, Jane, laugh him out of it 
if you can. Nothing like ridicule for such stupidity. 

Mrs, B. {laicghmg) I'll do my best, {goes into 
drawing-room. HODDESDEN ^r?^??/j'. 7 he people ill the 
drawing-room are seen moving through the blifids. 
Bendyshe begins his song) 

HoDD. God bless the boy — he makes me feel young 
again, {after a pause, R. u. E., Seth lounges on from 
behind the bushes at back, carryiftg switch, comes down 
to the verandah and peers into drawing-room through 
the chinks in the blind) 

Seth. {quietly) There's the old gent sure enough — 
a-singin' fit to bust ! '0\v can I get to 'im ? Now the 
Captain's turned out a stift un, must make a honest fiver 
out of somebody. 

HODD. {startijig up, seeing Seth) Hullo, my man, 
what do you want ? 

Seth. I've got a message for a gent 

HoDD. Gad ! it's the husband, and a nice scoundrel 
you must be ! 

Seth. y fiercely) Eh ? 

HoDD. {fiercely) Don't answer me, sir ! What are 
you doing here ? 

Seth. 'Ow am I to tell you if I don't answer ? 

HODD. Quite right ! I apologize. I'll have you 
locked up for loitering with intent to commit a felony. 

Seth. There's a gent in this house as has business 
with my missis ! I wants to give him a message. 

HoDD. By Gad ! He has found him out ! Poor old 
Tom ! Serve him right, the young rip ! This will save 
me a lot of trouble, {to Seth) Quite right, my man, 
don't you stand it, take the matter in hand and knock the 
nonsense out of him. 

Seth. {blankly) Eh ? 

HoDD. {growls) What do you mean by "Eh"? 
You know what he's up to — it's your business to stop it. 

Seth. Stop it — why should I ? 



52 ONE SUMMER'S DAY. 

HODD. (aghast) Why should you ! You discover 
that there's a fool making love to your wife under your 
very nose, and you don't see why you should stop it. 

Seth. {scornfully) Making love ! I know my wife ! 

HODD. I dare say, but you don't know him. He's 
desperate. I tell you — declares he'll never leave her, 
swears he'll roam the world with her, laughs to scorn 
the idea of her having a husband, says it's impossible ! 

Seth. (gettiiig angry) Oh, does he ? 

HoDD. That's right, get excited, convince him that 
you are her husband and know how to look after your 
own property. Knock the nonsense out of him ! 

Seth. (c. lookUig at Hoddesden curiously) You 
wants me to lick him ? 

HODD. (C.) Lick him ? Yes — gently, mind, gently 
but firmly. 

Seth. Ain't he a bit past it, Guv'nor ? 

HoDD. Past it, pooh ! I was often licked at his age. 

Seth. Was ye now ? ye surprise me ! 

HODD, Mind ye, don't overdo it ! One or two cuts 
with that switch across the shoulders — it's the shame of 
it will do the trick, not the blow. 

Seth. 'Ow about the action for assault ,'' 

HODD. You leave that to me. There'll be no action. 
You will hear no more of it as long as you don't hurt him. 
Only make him smart, no real damage, {then fiercely) 
Mark me, sir, if you go too far I'll get you six months ot 
the hardest labor you ever had — the hardest ! Don't 
you dare to hurt him — frighten him, that's all, do you 
hear? There's a sovereign for you to cure him of his 
folly — there's half a sovereign for the trouble — cheap at 
the price, {crosses L.) 

Seth. 'Ere, suppose I gets excited — wot then ? 

HoDD. You'd better not. 

Seth. Well! {becko7is) 'ere! 'Ow deep's that there 
pond ? {poiiiting off at back of house) 

HODD. Two foot ! 

Seth. S'posin' I don't lick him ! S'posin' I jest pops 
'im in there for a bit to cool. 

HoDD. Pop him in to cool ! Capital ! The very 
thing ! Don't mention my name in the matter ! Hide ! 
I'll send him out to you. Don't hurt him ! By Gad, don't 
you hurt him, or you'll have to deal with me. {exit into 
drawing-room) 



k 



ONE SUMMER'S DAY. 53 

Seth. 'Ere's a rum go ! Poor old gent ? Well, it'll 
serve him right. Wot business 'ad he to get flirty ! You 
sits to an artist as business — and if business is to come to 
roamin' the world — well — {goes to window) There 'e 
is, poor old gent, smilin' all over his face. Wot's 
t'other old gent's little game ? Had a row and don't like 
to tackle 'im 'imself, shouldn't wonder, {enter Bendyshe 
L. cheerfully singing) 

Ben. Delightful music ! (sings) La, la, la, la, too 
high ! Fills me with inspiration. I could do great things 
to-night, (sings) La, la. la, la, — too low. Silly little 
boy Tom, to lose his heart to my Cleopatra ! My dusky 
maid 1 

Seth. (iij^ l. from the shadows at hack, sepulchr-ally) 
Your dusky maid 1 

Ben. (startled) Good gracious, my good man ! 

Seth. (ironically) Your good man I 

Ben. Are you aware you're trespassing ? 

Seth. Are you aware you're trespassing ? 

Ben. Gracious ! How you repeat my words, 

Seth, Your words ! your Cleopatra I your dusky 
maid ! (fiercely) What price me? 

Ben, I haven't the slightest idea ! 

Seth. A-paintin' of her face, wos yer ? A-goin' to 
hang her in the Academy, wos yer ? A-goin' to roam the 
world with 'er, was you } I repeat wot pi Jce me ? (gets 
betzveen Bendyshe and window) 

Ben. What's the matter with the fellow ? Help \ 

Seth, 'Tain't no use shouting, the old gent's took 'em 
all away. 

Ben. [standing en tiptoe and looking info dra^wing- 
room from opposite side of stage) They're all in the 
billiard-room. This is awful ! 

Seth. The other old gent don't approve of your little 
game, nor do \. 

Ben. What little game ? 

Seth. A-roamin* the world with my missis. 'Esays I 
ain't to 'it you 'ard, so I sha'n't 'it you at all. 

Ben. Hit me ! 

Seth. To cool yourarder, I'm to pop you in the pond. 
(moves over) 

Ben. (aghast) Pop me in the pond .-* (gets up 
R. C.) 

Seth. Pity you ain't got a mackintosh. 



54 ONE SUMMER'S DAY. 

Ben. The man's mad ! Oh, if I could only run very- 
fast. 

Seth. Don't slither about like that, Guv'nor, you've 
got to 'ave it. (Bendyshe with a shout for help bolts 
off up L. behind the house pursued by Seth. Laughing 
heartily) You've got to 'ave it — a job's a job 1 

Enter HODDESDENyV^;;/ drawing-room. 

HODD. My good man, you needn't wait. Hullo, he 
hasn't, hang the fellov/ ! Perhaps it's as well. Where 
the dickens has the boy gone to ? I locked him in the 
library, he's got out of the window — tore up the table 
cover, tied it into knots and dropped twenty feet if it's an 
inch. God bless him ? he's a chip of the old block — 
young fool ! hang the man ! why didn't he wait ? He'd 
have knocked the nonsense out of him, bless his 
pig-headed young heart ! Gad's life, he makes me feel 
young again — dashed young fool ! {exit into drawing- 
room) 

Enter TOM R., generally dilapidated, sees HODDESDEN. 

Tom. {despairingly) Governor ! 

HOUD. Eh .? {tvheels round and sees TOM) God 
bless the boy ! 

Tom. Governor ! 

HODD. {turns quickly, coming down stage) Hullo ! 
Hullo ! What's up ? 

Tom. Governor ! {tumbles into Hoddesden's arms) 

HODD. The scoundrel, he's hurt him ! Tom, boy, 
what is it, old chap ? 

Tom. {faintly) Oh, Governor ! She — she — she is 
married ! 

HODD. He has hurt him ! 

Tom. He ? Who ? 

HODD. That brute, her husband. 

Tom. I've not seen him. I don't want to see him. 
Oh, Governor, I've been such a fool. 

HODD. No, no, boy, it's all right. We can't help 
these things. 

Tom. We can. You locked me in. I got out of the 
window, that's why I'm lame. 

HODD. {excited) Lame ? 

Tom. Only a little sprain. I got over to the island all 



ONE SUMMER'S DAY. 55 

right enoug-h. I had to see her. Oh, Governor, my 
heart's broken ! I saw her. 

HoDD. Cheer up, old boy ! 

Tom. No, I saw her. She was going away ; all the 
things were in the caravan. She's married. Governor, 
she's married. 

HODD. Of course she is. Oh, my dear boy, that is, 
you young fool, I mean. How's your leg ? 

Tom. {plaintively) It won't go at all. I can't walk 
any more. Oh, to think that she's married ! 

HODD. Here ! Hi ! (shouts) Hajig it, where are 
the servants ? Here ! Hi ! {shouts again) Come on, 
boy, we'll soon put you straight. There ! put your arm 
round m.y neck. I can carry you, boy — don't do it again, 
will you ? {tries to lift Tom) 

Tom. You can't move me ! 

HoDD. Shut up ! 

Tom. I don't mean that. I mean I'm too heavy. 

HODD. Nonsense, damn nonsense. ( half carries 
him across stage) Hi ! here ! where are the servants ? 
Bless the boy ! he's all right. Serve him right. No, it 
don't ; I'm a brute ! Does it hurt ? 

Tom. Not much. She was lovely, wasn't she ? 

HODD. Hang her ! don't know. I mean, of course 
she was. Cheer up, old boy, you're all right. 

Enter Mrs. Bendyshe from window. 

Mrs. B. (l. C.) I can't find the boy anywhere ! 
You've got him ! 

HoDD. (C.) I've got him, and he's got a sprained 
ankle. 

Enter Irene. 

Irene, (l., excitedly) Is he found ? 
Tom. (r. C.) Oh, bother all the fuss. 

Enter Phil. 

Phil, (l.) He's not lost ? 

Tom. Shut up ! All right, Governor, I can stand ! 

Enter Maysie. 
Maysie, {on steps) Then he is quite safe ? 

LofC. 



56 ONE SUMMER'S DAY. 

Tom. Oh, my gracious ! you'd think I was a precious 
jewel. 

HODD. It's a good thing you were out of the way 
just now. The husband came up to look for you, young 
man. I gave him a sovereign and recommended him to 
duck you in the pond. 

All. {excitedly) Duck him in the pond ! 

Ben. {outside) Not again ! Oh, not again ! 



Enter Bendyshe, a woe-begone, bedraggled, befouled 
object, his curly hair limp and long about his eyes, 
the weeds round his neck and water oozing from 
every pore. Runs to C, then down. 

All. Gracious ! What's happened ? 

Ben. (completely out of breath, feebly waves his 
arms) That dreadful man 1 I ran rapidly for miles, I 
did indeed ! But he was always just behind me. I 
heard him between my puffs. •' It's no use, Guv'nor, 
you've got to have it," he remarked, repeatedly. He was 
quite right ! I did have it ! Look at me ! 

Mrs. B. (r., crosses c. to him) My dearest, you'll 
catch your death, 

Ben. (c.) I don't mind. Nothing seems to matter 
now. I keep on finding tadpoles in my hair. 

HODD. (R. C.) Take him mside and give him some- 
thing hot. Here, the boy, too. A nice couple of 
Romeos, upon my word ! 

Ben. [ahnost in tears) He called me sonny when he 
pulled me out. It sounded so friendly. It made me 
wonder why he pushed me in. 

Mrs. B. Don't talk now, dear ! Come and change 
every stitch. {exeunt Bendyshe, supported by his 
wife, Tom, by HODDESDEN ; all expressing wonderment 
and distress) 

Phil. What on earth's happened ? 

Maysie, Who pushed him in ? 

Irene. He didn't say. 

Phil. The gipsy fellow, of course, {pause. Maysie 
nioves off thoughtfully one side. Phil goes up at back 
humming. Irene sits on chair) 

Irene. What's become of Major Dick ? 

Phil. He's got a fit of the blues. 



ONE SUMMER'S DAY. 57 

Ireni:. Has he ? Why doesn't he come up here ; we'll 
cure him. 

Phil. He had to go down to the town to get a tele- 
gram that went wrong — or something. 

Irene. Oh! {pause; she watches the couple, then 
suddenly) Good gracious me ! I beg your pardon. How 
careless of me ! 

Phil, {up c.) What's up ? 

Irene. Leaving myself about like this when there's a 
nice moon and a newly-engaged couple. 

Maysie. {doivn L.) Don't go ! Please don't go, 
Irene ? 

Irene, {cheerfully') Well, I won't, {sits dotvn firmly. 
Phil arid Maysie l., moon about dejectedly ; Irene 
watches the?n out of the corner of her eye — sighs) Oh, 
what a happy thing is love ! {pause) Look at them ! 
They can't really like it, you know, {another pause) 
Oh, I give it up. This may be enthralling to you two, 
but it gets on my nerves. If somebody would only say 
something, I'd 

Phil. Oh, don't go ! 

Irene. Certainly. I was only staying to oblige you. 

Phil. I don't mean- — —{warn music) 

Irene. Don't glare at me in the moonlight, Mr. Mars- 
den. I'm doing my best. I shall play sweet music to you 
because it's the food of love, and you two poor people 
look starving, {runs tip steps into drawing-room) 

Phil, {after a pause) Aren't you happy ? (Maysie 
sits L.) 

Maysie. {listlessly) Very happy. Why do you say 
that? 

Phil. You seem — odd somehow. 

Maysie. {dreamily) How did he fall into the pond ? 

Phil. I don't know — but — oh, don't let's think of him, 
let's think of ourselves, {takes her hand) Oh, my dear 
little girl, you have made me so happy. 

Maysie. Have I ? (Irene is heard playing the harp 
in drawing-room) 

Phil. It is awful to be so awfully in love as I am. I 
can't think of anything else. Do I bore you talking like 
this ? I can't help it. 

Maysie. It is nice to hear one is loved. 

Phil. Is it ? 

Maysie. {looking at him) You said that strangely. 



58 ONE SUMMER'S DAY. 

Phil. You said it was nice to hear one was loved. 
{softly) I haven't heard it yet — won't you say " Phil, I 
love you ? " See, I can take you in my arms, you little 
mite of a thing, and — oh, I could crush you — don't hide 
your face, Maysie ! don't hide your face ! {kisses her) Oh, 
I will try and make you happy, little one. I'm not good 
enough for you, I know ; but I'll try to be. Dick said 
to-day I wasn't worth the dust on your tiny shoes. 

Maysie. Did he ? 

Phil. He was about right. But all the same, won't ^ 
you say, "Phil, I love you .? " Why, Maysie, you're not" 
crying ? 

Maysie. No — but — I — it all seems strange, doesn't 
it? 

Phil. It's all splendid. You know if it hadn't been 
for Dick I should never have had the courage to ask 
you again. 

Maysie. {quickly) Why do you keep on talking 
about Dick ? 

Phil. Do I ? I didn't mean to. I suppose because 
he's such a good chap. 

Maysie. He's not a good chap ; he's — he's Oh, 

I wish I didn't know. I wish I didn't know, {crosses R.) 

Phil, {goes to her ; quickly) Maysie ! 

Maysie. {repulsing him) No, no ! Don't speak to 
me now. 

Phil. What do you wish you didn't know ? 

Maysie. All the miserable truth about it. I thought 
him so strong, so brave — I could have — and then to find 
out — all ! Oh, it was terrible ! 

Phil. All ! What ? 

Maysie. The lies about his dead wife, — all the shame 
he has lived in — all the disgrace — the dishonor — the lies 
about his boy. I saw the woman ! I saw him give her 
money — he told me she was {long pause) she was — 
the mother of his boy. 

Phil, {very deliberately) You believe that woman 
and Dick 

Maysie. {interrupts ; scornfully) Believe ! He told 
me so himself. 

Phil, {slowly, ivatchitig her intently) But suppose 
— suppose it is all a mistake — suppose Dick was not 
guilty — suppose he had been free and had asked you to 
marry him, v^^hat would you have said {she walks 



ONE SUMMER'S DAY. 59 

slowly away, crosses C. to l., and leans her head 
against the pillars of the verandah j he follows her) 
Tell me, Maysie. 

Maysie. Yes, it's right you should know. If Dick 
had asked me this morning, I should have been, oh, so 
proud. After what I heard — what he told me this after- 
noon — I hope I shall never see him again. 

Phil, {after long pause — slowly) Then you don't 
love me after all — but I'll try to make you love me, dear. 
I'll try all my life ! If I were brave I — I ought to give 
you up. But I love you too much to be brave. Try 
and love me a little, won't you, dear ? 

Maysie. I do love you, Phil. 

Phil. But Dick ? 

Maysie. Hush ! That was different. That's over. 
Oh, if you knew how I despise him now ! 

Phil. Don't ! don't ! I can't bear to hear you so un- 
just to him. 

Maysie. [scorfifully) Unjust ! Do you admire him 
for it ? 

Phil. No, but—but ! Don't be too hard on him ! 
Perhaps you don't know all. 

Maysie. I know enough, thank you. 

Phil. Yes, but — if I could prove that you were wrong 
— that Dick never did a thing in his whole life to be 
ashamed of—that this story is a mistake — if I could 
prove this ? 

Maysie. {turning to him quickly) If you could 
prove this, I should be the happiest woman in the world ; 
but you can't, Phil — you can't, can you ? 

Phil, {looks at her, holds out his hands, then turns 
from her with bent head) No, I can prove nothing. 
{she turns and walks listlessly up the steps) 

Maysie. {quietly) When did you say you wanted 
our wedding to be ? 

Phil, {huskily, not turning to her) Some time next 
month. 

Maysie. {slowly) Next month — yes, I remember ! 
Then — we — we — go away ! I remember ! {goes slowly 
in to draw ing -room) 

Phil, {to himself) You coward ! — you allowed her 

to believe a lie — to think Dick You coward ! afraid 

to tell her the truth — afraid {music gets softer. 

Dick is seen coming out of the darkness beyond the 



6o ONE SUMMER'S DAY. 

trees and across the lawn. He comes slowly with un- 
steady steps. Phil watches him for a moment, then 
starts forward wiJh a subdued cry) Dick ! (DiCK 
comes out of the shadow, the light falls on his face, 
which is draw ft and pale, his lips trembling with sup- 
pressed suffering. In a whisper) Dick ! Great God ! 
What is it ? {pause. DiCK looks at hifn for a moment 
as if dazed. Repeats) What is it ? 

Dick, [chokingly) Don't speak to me-r-don't — 
Where's Maysie ? I — I want her. 

Phil. What's happened ? 

Dick, {hoarsely) Kiddie — kiddie's dead ! Don't 
speak to me ! Where's Maysie '^ 

Phil, {dumfounded) Dead ? Kiddie dead ! 

Dick, {jerkily) Killed — to-day — run over — ^justashe 
started out to — to post his little letter to me. {sways a 
little. Phil catches hii>i) Oh, God help me ! — my own 
little kiddie ! {sits by table in half light) 

Phil. My dear old boy. 

Dick. Don't — don't pity me ! I shall be a fool ! 
{lo7ig pause — he sways to and fro recovering his self- 
control) I told his mother to-day that he was dead ! I 
thought I was lying, but it was the truth — it's like a 
judgment — Maysie, ask her to come to me. I don't want 
to face the light. 

Phil, {goes slowly to verafidah, turns, looks at 
Dick, then in a whisper to himself) If I bring her to 

him she {pauses again, irresolute, then with fierce 

determination) I can't ! I can't ! Why should 1 lose her 
now ? {returns to DiCK, who is sitting with his head on 
his folded arms) Dick ! {rouses him) Dick ! Must 
you see her ? (DiCK raises his head) I mean — you — 
you don't know all ; she has promised to marry me ; it's 
all arranged. 

Dick, {listlessly) Yes — yes — I know. I'm going 
away alone. We settled that — you and I. 

Phil, {slowly) Yes — but — this afternoon you al- 
lowed her to think you and that woman were 

Dick, {quickly, as if to himself) Yes, yes, that's 
why I've come ! It was a misunderstanding. I didn't 
see what she was driving at till afterwards, but I can 
tell her now. I must tell her now, because I shall never 
see her again, and — and when I saw her last ! — I know 
she despised me — it was in her eyes. She won't do that 



ONE SUMMER'S DAY. 6i 

any more, will she, Phil ? She'll help me now, when 
she knows the truth. 

Phil, [slowly) When she knows the truth she will 

despise you no longer. She will ■ {with a sudden 

outburst) Oh, man, don't you understand ? (Dick looks 
at him, theti suddejily the nieajiing flashes into his face^ 
and he lifts his hafids as if to ward off a blow) 

Dick, {despairingly) Phil ! You wouldn't have me 
—oh, Phil ! 

Phil, {huskily) I love her so — and — and — the wed- 
ding is arranged, {long pause) 

Dick, {looks at him slowly, sinks back into chair 
mechanically) The wedding is arranged ! I never 
thought of that. Yes — yes — I understand ! {rises, slowly 
tur^is to go away) 

Phil, {holds out his hands to him imploriiigly) 
Dick ! 

Dick, {turns and looks at him, ignorijig the out- 
stretched hands) Hush ! don't say anything for a bit ! 
[pauses, then cojiguers himself ajid turtis to Phil) We 
— we've been chums for a lor^g time, Phil, a long time. 
I — I've been damned fond of you — we won't go back on 
it now. You've asked a great deal — you're right, I sup- 
pose — but I'm too tired to see things clearly now. 

Phil. You think I'm a coward, Dick ? 

Dick. No. You're young, I'm old — that's all the dif- 
ference, {then with an effort at cheerficbiess) After 
all, what does it matter whether she despises me or not ? 
I shall be a long way off, and I shall love her all the time. 
{takes Phil's hand earnestly) Be kind to her, Phil, be 
very kind to her, and perhaps some day you'll tell her for 
me — some day — all in your own good time, {drops 
Phil's hand and tur7is as if to go) 

Phil, [huskily) Where are you going ? 

Dick, [gently) I'm going — to kiss — my boy. (Maysie 
comes out of the drawing-room. He sees her as she 
stands in the light)' 

Maysie. Who — who is that ? 

Phil, [stopping her quickly) Hush ! 

Maysie. Major Rudyard ! {stajtds on veratidah, the 
light from the room on her) 

Phil. (C.) He's going away — he came to say good-bye. 

Dick. (l. c, falteringly) Yes, yes ; good-bye to 
Phil — to you. 



62 ONE SUMMER'S DAY. 

Maysie. {very quietly, not looking at him, not mov- 
ing) You are going abroad, then ? 

Dick. Yes. 

Maysie. P^or long ? 

Dick. For ever. 

Maysie. [drearily) For ever ? 

Dick, [hasn't moved or looked at her) There's 
nothing to keep me here. Fm alone now. I — won't you 
say good-bye to me .? 

Maysie. Good-bye. 

Dick. Won't you shake hands ? [she doesn't move) 
You won't shake hands — you won't shake hands ? 

Maysie. I can't. You know why I can't. I shouldn't 
mean it if I did — after to-day. (DiCK looks at her plead- 
ingly, dumbly, his lips quivering. She goes on speakiftg 
softly, keepijig back her tears) I will try and think less 
hardly of you— when you are gone. Fll try to think you 
all I once thought you. I will pray to God to bless 
you and to bless your boy. [stops arid half turns to 
DiCK) 

Dick. (r. C, slowly) To bless my boy — yes, God 
has blessed him ; He's taken him from me — kiddie's 
gone ! 

Maysie. (c, looks tip swiftly for the first time into 
Dick's /(^^^, the7i with a movement of i^ifinite tenderness 
turns to him with a cry) Dick ! — Oh, Dick ! 

Dick, [brokenly) Don't — don't speak kindly to me, I 
can't bear it. For God's sake shake hands — good-bye — 
good-bye ! (Maysie gives him both her hands. He holds 
them tremblingly a minute, looking i7ito her eyes, then 
drops them and tur?is to go. Phil has been standing at 
back wrestling with himself. As DiCK turns, he breaks 
out passionately) 

Phil. (l. c.) I can't do it! I can't ! Maysie, you're 
wrong ! Don't let him go. Tell her the truth, Dick — the 
truth ! 

Dick. No, no ! [he sinks 07i to 'chair and bows his 
head on his arms o?i the table) 

Phil. Then I will. The boy was Jack Townsend's 
boy. Dick, for Jack's sake, adopted him, worked for him, 
loved liim. He promised to save him from that woman. 
He did his best, Dick, Dick, forgive me, forgive me! 

Maysie. (with a glad cry) Dick ! 

Phil. May, dear, you told me you couldn't love me — 



ONE SUMMER'S DAY. 63 

I understand. You are quite free, Maysie, quite free. 
{turns hurriedly and disappears into the trees. There 
is a long pause, broken only by the soft soimds of the 
harp and distant voices from a far boat on the river 
singing an old air) 

Maysie. {goes slowly to Dick, holding out her 
hands) Dick, oh, my dear, dear Dick ! Dick, don't, 
don't, don't ! Let me help you to bear it, dear, won't you .? 
{steals ftearer to him and rests her hand on his bowed 
head) Won't you, dear ? I'll try to understand. I'll 
never question again, if you'll only kegp me with you 
always. I — I want to be your wife, Dick, won't you take 
me ? 

Dick, {turns to her as if dazed, then with a cry, 
half laugh, half sob, he drops his weary head on her 
hands and murmurs brokenly) Oh, my dear — my 
dear ! {the song dies away in the distance as the cur- 
tain falls) 



DEC 181900 



{Frenches Standard Drama Continued from 2d page of Cover.) 



VOL. XLt. 
821 The Pirate's Legacy 

322 The Charcoal Burner 

323 Adelgitba 

324 Senor Valiente 

325 Forest Rose 

326 Duke's Daughter 
827 Camilla's Husband 

328 Pure Gold 

VOL. XLII. 

329 Ticket of Leave Man 

330 Fool's Revenge 

331 O'Neil the Great 

332 Handy Andy 

333 Pirate of the Isles 
834 Fanchon 

336 Little Barefoot 

336 Wild Irish Girl 

VOL. XLin. 

337 Pearl of SaVoy 

338 Dead Heart 

339 Ten N ights in a Bar-room 

340 Dumb Boy of Manchester 

341 BelphegortheMounteb'k 

342 Cricket on the Hearth 

343 Printer's Devil 
844 Meg's Diversioa 



VOL. XLIV. 

345 Drunkard's Doom 

346 Chimney Corner 

347 Fifteen Years of a Drunk 

348 No Thoroughfare Tard's 

349 Peep O' Day L^ife 

350 Everybody's Friend 

351 Gen. Grant 

352 Kathleen Mavourneen 

VOL. XLV. 

353 Nick Whiffles 

354 Fruits of the Wine Cup 

355 Drunkard's Warning 

356 Temperance Doctor 

357 Aunt Dinah 

358 Widow Freeheart 

359 Frou Frou 

360 Long Strike 

VOL. XLVL 

361 Lancers 

362 Lucille 

363 Randall's Thumb 

364 Wicked World 

365 Two Orphans 

366 Colleen Bawn 

367 'Twixt Axe and Crown 
Lady Clancarthy 



VOL. XLVII. 

369 Saratoga 

370 Never Too Late to Mend 

371 Lily of France 

372 Led Astray 

373 Henry V 

374 Unequal Match 

375 May or Dolly's Delusion 

376 AUatoona 

VOL. XLVIII. 

377 Enoch Arden 

378 Under the Gas Light 

379 Daniel Rochat 

380 Caste 

381 School 

382 Home 

383 David Garrick 

384 Ours 

VOL. XLIX. 

385 Social Glass 

386 Daniel Druce 

387 Two Roses 

388 Adrienne 

389 The Bells 

390 Uncle 

391 Courtship 

39? Not Such a Fool 



VOL. L. 

393 Fine Feathers 

394 Prompter's Box 

395 Iron Master 

396 Engaged 

397 Pygmalion & Galatea 

398 Leah 

399 Scrap of Paper 

400 Lost in London 

VOL. LL 

401 Octoroon 

402 Confederate Spy 

403 Mariner's Return 

404 Ruined by Drink 

405 Dreams 

406 M. P. 

407 War 

408 Birth 

VOL. LII. 

409 Nightingale 

410 Progress 

411 Play 

412 Midnight Charge 

413 Confidential Clerk 

414 Snowball 

415 Our Regiment 

416 Married for Money 
Hamlet in Three Act* 
Guttle & Gulpit 



FRENCH'S INTERNATIONAL COPYRIGHTED EDITION 
OF THE WORKS OF THE BEST AUTHORS. 

The following very successful plays have just been issued at 25 cents per copy. * 



A JPAIR OF SPECTACLES. Comedy In 3 Acts 
by Sydney Grundy, author of " Sowing the Wind," 
&c. 8 male, 3 female characters. 

A POOL'S PARADISE. An original play in 3 
Acts by Sydnicy Grundy, author of " Sowing the 
V/ind," <tc. 5 male, 4 female characters. 

THE SILVER SHIELD. An original comedy in 
3 Acts by Sypnby Grundy, author of " Sowing the 
Wind," Ac. 5 male, 3 female characters. 

THE GLASS OF FASHIOK. An original com- 
edy in 4 Acts by Sydney Grundy, author ot " Sowing 
the Wind," &c. 5 male, 5 female characters. 



THE BALLOON. Farcical comedy in 3 Acts by J. 

H. Darni.ey and Manville Fenn. 6 male, 4 female 

characters. 
MISS CLEOPATRA. Farce in 3 Acts by Arthur 

.Shirley. 7 male, 3 female characters. 
SIX PERSONS. Comedy Act by I. Zangwill. 

1 male, 1 female character. 
FASHIONABLE INTELLIGENCE. Comedi- 
etta in 1 Act by Percy Fendall. 1 male, 1 female 

character. 
HIGHLAND LEGACY. Comedy in 1 Act by 

Brandon Thomas, author of "Charley's Aunt." 

5 male, 2 female characters. 



Contents of Catalogue which is sent Free. 



Amateur I>rama 

Amateur Operas 

Articles Needed by Amateurs 

Art of Scene Painting 

Ba'ijer's Reading Club 

Beards, Whiskers, Mustaches, etc. 

Bound Sets of Plays 

Bulwer Lytton's Plays 

Burlesque" Dramas 

Burnt Cork 

Cabman's Story 

Carnival of Author* 

Charade Plavs 

Children's Plays 

Comic Dramas for Male Characters 

only 
Costume Books 
Crape Hair 
Cumberland Edition 
Darkey Dramas 
Dramas for Bovs 
Drawing-room "^Ionologues 
Elocution, Reciters and Speakers 
Ethiopian Dramas 



Evening's Entertainment 

Fairy and Home Plays 

French's Costumes 

French's Editions 

French's Italian Operas 

French's Parlor Comedies 

French's Standard and Minor Drama 

French's Standard and Minor Drama, 

bound 
French's Scenes for Amateurs 
Frobisher's Popular Recitals 
Grand Army Dramas 
Guide Books for Amateurs 
Guide to Selecting Plays 
Hints on Costume's 
Home Plays for Ladies 
Irish Plays 
Irving's Plays 
Juvenile Plays 
Make-Up Book 
Make-Up Box 
Mock Trial 

Mrs. Jarley's Wax Works 
New Pl.iys 



New Recitation Books 

Nigger Jokes and Stfcip Speeches 

Parlor Magic 

Parlor P.intominies 

Pieces of Pleasantry 

Poems for Recitations 

Plays for Male Characters only 

Round Games 

Scenery 

Scriptural and Historical Dramas 

Sensation Dramas 

Serio-Comic Dramas 

Shadow Pantomimes 

Shakespeare's Plays for Amateurs 

Shakespeare's Plays 

Stanley's Dwarfs 

Spirit Gum 

Tableaux Vivants 

Talma Actor's Art 

Temperance Plays 

Vocal Music of Shakespeare's Plays 

Webster's Acting Edition 

Wigs, etc. 



{Frenches Minor Drama Continued from 4th page of Cover.) 



VOL. XLT. 

321 Adventures of a Love 

322 Lost Child [Letter 

323 Court Cards 

324 Cox and Box 

325 Fortv Winks 

326 Wonderful Woman 

327 Curious Case 

328 Tweedleton's Tail Coat 



VOL. XLII. 
.329 As Like as Two Peas 

330 Presumptive Evidence 

331 Happy Band 

332 Pinafore 

333 Mock Trial 

334 My Uncle's Will 

335 Happv Pair 

336 My Turn Next 



VOL. XLIII. 

.337 Sunset 

338 For Half a Million 

339 Cable Car 
;J40 Early Bird 

341 Alumni Play 

342 Show of Hands 

343 Barbara 

344 Who's Who 



VOL. XLIV. 

345 Who's To Win Him 

346 Which is Which 

347 Cup of Tea 

348 Sarah's Young Man 

349 Hearts 

.350 In Honor Bound [Law 
351 Freezing a Mother-in- 
35J My Lord in Livery 



SAMUEL FRENC^i, 26 West 22d St., New York City, 



l^r* New and Explicit Descriptive Catalogue Mailed Free on Request. 



FRENCH'S MIN( LZr.,°L"S!,^5 



Price IS Cents each.— Bounc 



fep- 



VOL. I. 

1 The Irish Attorney 

2 BooU sit the Swan 

3 How to Pay the Rent 

4 The Loan of a Lover 

5 The Dead Shot 

6 His Last Legs 

7 The Invisible Prinee 
b The Gol.len Farmer 

VOL. II. 
9 Pride of the Market 

10 Used Up 

11 The Irish Tutor 

12 The Barrack Room 

13 Luke the Laborer 

14 Beautv and the Beast 

15 St. Pa'triik's Eve 

16 Captain of the Watch 

VOL. III. 
n The Secret [] 

18 White Horse of the 

19 The Jacobite 

20 The Bottle 

21 Box and Cor 

22 Barnhoozliiig 

23 Widow's Victim 

24 Robert Macaire 

VOL. IV. 
55 Secret Service 
26 Omnibus 
2T Irish Lion 

28 Maid of Croissy 

29 The Old Guard 

30 Raising the Wind 

31 Slasher and Crasher 

32 Naval Engsgements 

VOL. V. 
3S Cocknies in California 

34 Who Speaks First 

35 Bombastes Furioso 

36 Macbeth Travestie 
81 Irish Ambassador 

38 Delicate Ground 

39 The Weathercock [Gold 

40 All that Glitters is Not 

VOL. VL 

41 Grimshaw, Bagshaw and 

Bradshaw 

42 Rough Diamond 

43 Bloomer Costume 

44 Two Bonn vcas ties 

45 Bom to Good Luck 

4b Kiss in the Dark [jnrer 

47 'Twould Puzzle a Con- 

48 Kill or Cure 

VOL. VIl, 

49 Box and Coi Married and 

50 St. Cupid [Settled 

61 Go-to-bed Tom 

62 The Lawyers 

63 Jack Sheppard 

54 The Toodles 

55 The Mobcap 

56 Ladies Beware 

VOL. vin. 
67 Morning Call 
58 PoppiiJi; ''■ - '~' .■ ' \' ' a 
69 Deal as a Post 

60 New Footman 

61 Pleasant Neighbor 

62 Paddy the Piper 

63 Brian O'Linn 

64 Irish Assurance 

VOL. IX. 

65 Temptation 

66 Paddy Carey 

67 Two Gregories 

68 King Charming 

69 Po-ca-hon-tas 

70 Clockmaker's Hat 

71 Married Rake 

72 Love and Murder 

VOL. X. 

73 Ireland and America 

74 Pretty Piece of Business 

75 Irish "Broom-maker 

76 To Paris and Back for 

Five Ponnds 

77 That Blessed Baby 

78 Our Gal 

79 Swiss Cottage _^ 

80 Voung Widow 



VOL. XI. 

81 0'FlanniganandtheFai-i!61 Pro 

82 Irish Post fries 162 A 



83 Mv Neighbor's Wife 

84 Irish Tiger 

85 P. P., or Man and Tiger 

86 To Oblige Benson 

87 State Secrets 

88 Irish Yankee 

VOL. XIL 

89 A Good Fellow 

90 Cherrv and Fair Star 

91 Gale Breezely 

92 Our Jeniimy 

93 Miller's Maid 

94 Awkward Arrival 

95 Crossing the Line 

96 Conjugal Lesson 

VOL. XIII. 

97 Mv Wife's Mirror 
9$ Li'fe in New York 
99 Middy Ashore 

100 Crown Prince 

101 Two Quet-ns 

102 Thumping Legacy 

103 Unfinished Gentleman 

104 House Dog 

VOL. XIV. 

105 The Demon Lover 

106 Matrimony 

107 In and Oiitof Place 

108 I Dine with My Mother 

109 Hi-a-wa-tha 
IIU Andy Bl.^ke 

111 Love' in '76 [ties 

112 Romance under Difficul- 

VuL. XV. 
1 1.-? One Coat for a Suits 

114 A Decided Case 

115 D.iughter [nority 

116 No; or, the Glorious Mi- 

117 Coroner's Inquisition 

118 Love in Humble Life 

119 Family Jars 

120 Personation 

AOL. XVI. 

121 Children in the Wood 

122 Winning a Husband 

123 Dav After the Fair 

124 Make Vonr Wills 

125 Rendezvous 

126 My Wife's Husband 

127 Monsieur Tonson 
12)5 Illustrious Stranger 

VOL. XVII. 
129 Mischief-Making [Mines 
1.30 A Live Woman in the 

131 The Corsair 

132 Shvlock 

133 Spoiled Child 
1.34 Evil Eve 

135 Nothing to Nurse 

136 Wanted a Widow 

VOL. XVIH. 

137 ' .,ery Ticket 

■ \j3 tortune's Frolic 

139 Is he Jealous! 

140 Married Bachelor 

141 Husband at Sight 

142 Irishman in London 

143 Animal Magnetism 

144 Highwavs and By-Ways 

VOL. XIX. 

145 Columbus 

146 Harlequin Bluebeard 

147 Ladies at Home 

14S Phenomenon in a Smock 
Frock 

149 Comedy and Tragedy 

150 Opposite ^feighbors 

151 Dutchman's Ghost 

152 Persecuted Dutchman 

VOL. XX. 

153 Musard Ball 

154 Great Tragic Revival " 

155 High Low Jack & Game 

156 A Gentleman from Ire- 

157 Tom and Jerry [land 

158 Village Lawyer 

159 Capt.iin's not A-miss 

160 Amateurs and Actors 



163 Mrs 

164 Sha 

165 Netv, 




014 492 058 2 

165INepv„.^ ^_ ■" *"*'*' ^ -vr 

166 L.ady of Bedchamber 1 24b A Lover by Proxy rrmi 
'.67 Take Care of Little 247 Maid with the Milking 
liib Irish'Widow [Charley 248 Perplexing Predicament 



VOL. XXTl, 

169 Yankee Peddler 

170 Hiram Hireout 

171 Double-Bedded Room 

172 The Drama Defended 

173 Vermont Wool Dealer 

174 Ebenezer Venture [ter 

175 Principles from Charac- 



VOL. XXXII. 

249 Dr. Di I worth 

250 Out to Nurse 

251 A Lucky Hit 

252 The Dowager 

253 Metamora (Bnrlesque) 

254 Dreams pf Delusion • 
55 The Shaker Lovers 



176 Ladv of the Lake (Trav),256 Ticklish Times 

VOL. XXUl. I VOL. XXXIH. ' 

177 Mad Dogs i/57 20 Minutes with a Tiger 

178 Barnev the Baron I25>s Miralda; or, the Justice 

179 Swiss Swains I of Tacon 

180 Bachelor's Bedroom |259 A Soldier's Courtship 

181 A Roland for an Oliver '260 Servants by Legacy 

182 More Blunders thanOne'261 Dving for Love 

183 Dumb Belle 
1^4 Lim>-rick Boy 



VOL. XXIV. 

185 Nature and Philosophy 

186 Teddy the Tiler 

187 Spectre Bridegroom 

188 Matteo Falcone 

189 Jenny Lind 

190 Two Buzzards 

191 Happv Man 

192 Betsy' Baker 

VOL. XXV. 

193 No. 1 Round the Comer 

194 TedJv Roe 

195 Object of Intorest 

196 My Fellow Clerk 

197 Bengal Tiger 

198 Laughing Hvena 

199 The Victor Vanquished 

200 Onr Wife 

VOL. xxvr. 

201 Mv Husband's Mirror 

202 Yankee Land 

203 Norah Creina 

204 Good for Nothing 

205 The First Night 

206 The Eton Boy 

207 Wandering Minstrel 

208 Wanted, 1000 Milliners 

VOL. XXVIL 

209 Poor Pilcoddy 

210 The Mummy [Glasses 

211 Don't Forget your Opera 

212 Love in Livery 

213 Anthony and Cleopatra 

214 Trying It On 

215 St-ige Struck Yankee 

216 Young Wife & Old Um- 

'orella 
VOL. XXVIIL 

217 Crinoline 

218 A Family Failing 
•-'19 Adopted Child 

220 Turned Heads 

221 A Match in the Dark 

222 Advice to Husbands 

223 Si.amese Twin? 

224 Sent to the Tower 

VOL. XXIX. 

225 Somebody fclse s 
2^6 Ladies' B'attle ' 
227 ^rt of Acting . 
22S The Ladv of the Lions 
229 The Rights of Man 
2.30 My Husband's Ghost 

231 Two Can Play at that 
Game 

232 Fightine: bv Proxy 
VOL. XXX. 

233 Unprotected Female 

234 Pet of the Petticoats 

235 Forty and Fiffv [book 
2.36 Who Stole th'e Pocket- 
237 My Son Diana [sion 

Unwarrantable Intru- 
2.39 Mr. and Mrs. White 
240 A Quiet Family 



262 ALirming Sacrifice 

263 Valet de Sh:.m 

264 Nicholas Mckleby 



{French's Minor Drama Continued on ■^d page of^ Cover.} 



265 The Last of the Pigtails 

266 King Rene'5 Daughter 

267 The Grotto Nvmph 

268 A Devilish Good Joke 

269 A Twice Told Tale 

270 Pas de Fas<rination . 
'71 Revolutionary Soldier 

272 A Man Without a Head 
VOL. XXXV. 

273 The Olio, P.irt i 
974 Tne Olio, Hart 2 

275 The Olio, Part 3 [ter 

276 The Trumpeter's Daugh- 

277 Seeing Warren 

278 Green Mountain Boy 

279 That Nose 

280 Tom Noddy's Serret 
VOL. X'XXVL 

281 .Shocking Events 

282 A Regular Fix 

283 Dick Turpin 

284 Young Scamp 

285 Young Actress 
2M«iCall at No. 1—7 

287 One Touch of Nature 

288 Two B'hovs 
VOL. X'XXVII. 

289 All the World's a Stage 

290 Quash, or Nigger Prac- 
l291 Turn Him Out [tice 

292 Pretty GirUof Stillberg 
2^3 Angel of the Attic 

294 CircumstancesaiterCases 

295 Kattv O'Sheal 

296 A Slipper in Dixie 
VOL, XXXVIII. 

297 lii on Parle Francais 

298 Who Killed Cock Robin 

299 Declaration of Indeperid- 

300 Heads or Tails [enca 
.301 Obstinate Family 

302 My Aunt 

303 That Rascal Pat 

304 Don Paddy de B.izan 
VOL. XXXIX. [ture 

305 Too Much for Good Na- 

306 Cure for the Fidgets 

307 Jack's the Lad 

308 Much Ado AboutNothing 
.309 Artful Dodger 

310 Winning Hazard 

311 Day's Fishing [4c. 

312 Did you ev^r send your, 
VOL. XL. 

313 An Irishman's Maneuver 

314 Cousin Fannie 

315 'Tis the Darkest Hourbe- 

316 Masquerade [fore Dawn 

317 Crowding the Season 

318 Good Night's Rest 
,319 .M.an with the Carpet Bag 
320 Terrible Tinker 



5AMUEL FRENCH. 26 West aad Street, New York City. 

New and Explicit Descriptive Catalogue Mailed Free on Request. 



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